


Be My Motivation

by happybeans



Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Matt Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, DadDevil, Friendship, Gen, Identity Reveal, Mentions of drugs, coffee shop au sort of, devildad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24548041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: Matt’s gone his whole life without more than a couple of meaningful friends. He doesn’t need anybody else; friendships are a distraction… So why can’t he stop talking to the night-shift deli worker while on patrol? And why, God, why does he offer him an internship in his firm?Worse, why does he agree to mentor the new teenage vigilante trying to break onto the scene?Between secret-identities, casework, and babysitting, Matt’s just praying he’ll have enough coffee to make it through this one.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Karen Page, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker
Comments: 84
Kudos: 458
Collections: Avidreaders Spiderman completed faves





	1. A Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I've been dreaming of making for an entire year. I thought it would never see the light of day, but I randomly decided to give it life. Hope you guys enjoy!

The first time it happens, the man behind the counter is the embodiment of fear, drenched in panic-sweat; breaths coming a little too short, a little too fast; heart beating so quick it’s distracting. When Matt steps forward to ask if he’s okay, if he needs to sit down, maybe, the man stumbles a step back. Okay. That’s fair; the suit was designed to be scary, the unfortunate side-effect being that civilians tend to be freaked out, too.

Well, it could be because of the suit, it could be because of the moment prior, when Matt roundhoused the gun across the store then proceeded to lay out the robber in two hits.

Matt takes his leave this first time. He can admit that what he makes up for in combat skill, he lacks interpersonally, and he’d much rather quit while he’s ahead.

By the fourth time they perform this song and dance, the man is much more blasé about the whole thing.

“Hands in the air! Open the fucking register!”

“Well, now, how can I do that with my hands in the air?”

Matt lets out a baffled sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff as he makes the leap to the next rooftop. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time he’s heard a victim endanger his own life with sarcasm, but it’s still a shock every time. 

“Enough games, man!”

The man from the deli says some reassuring words as he opens the register with a cha-ching, an impressively strong front. If it weren’t for Matt’s accelerated senses, he likely wouldn’t have noticed his nerves. It’s relieving to know there’s some sense in the man.

“And here you go,” the man says cheerfully, heart racing but voice steady. “That’s everything.”

“Under the drawer, too.”

Matt uses a fire-escape to swing to the ground, taking a deep breath as he approaches the deli door and pointedly ignoring the figure on the roof.

“No offense, but how much traffic do you think we get? That’s all, dude.”

“You fucking—”

Matt kicks in the door, loudly announcing his presence as it slams the wall on the other side of its hinges. The automatic ding-dong that follows is as ironic as it was the last three times, and it hasn’t finished ding-donging by the time the robber shouts:

“Oh shit, it’s the devil!” 

“I’m crouching on the floor, now,” the man behind the counter says.

The robber turns his gun towards Matt, who twists out of the way a full second before the shot bangs out. By the time the robber’s finger touches the trigger for the second time, Matt’s already in close enough range to slap the gun out of his hand and knee-strike him into unconsciousness. The bills clutched in his other hand flutter like confetti to the ground.

“All clear,” Matt says to the man behind the counter, whose knees crack as he stands up from his crouch. 

After a moment of silence, the man says, “Thanks for not breaking the door this time,” referencing the last time the place was robbed, and Matt’s door kick shattered glass across the entryway.

Matt snorts, saying, “Anything for a regular customer.”

The man huffs a laugh, saying as he walks around the counter, “Hate how that’s actually a true statement.” He bends down to start collecting the money from the ground surrounding their unconscious criminal, and Matt stoops down to zip-tie the perp then join in.

“The owners should really consider closing up early,” Matt suggests for the third time. He receives the same answer he’s gotten every time:

“Nelson’s hasn’t closed its doors since Hurricane Sandy, and before that, 1972. It’s not happening. Besides, I’d be out a job.”

The man chuckles, despite all four of these instances happening just within the last year. Frankly, the store’s stubbornness is ridiculous, though Matt has to appreciate the tradition.

Matt doesn’t respond, simply gathering up the rest of the money and handing the bills over to the man. 

“Thanks,” the man says casually, and whether it’s for helping pick up the cash or for taking down the robber, Matt’s not sure.

He nods and starts to turn around to take his leave, but he jolts to a stop when the man says:

“Hey, so… Did you want a cup of coffee or something?”

“Coffee?”

“Sure.” Matt pauses for a moment, and the man continues, “I’ll brew a fresh pot.”

That makes the offer a bit more tempting. From experience, he knows the police will likely take ten-to-fifteen minutes to get here. And though he’s loath to admit it, between a long day of work-work and now vigilante-work, he’s a bit run down. He was considering turning in early tonight, but a cup of coffee is definitely a better solution.

“Okay,” Matt says finally.

“Okay,” the man repeats. “Sure. Let me just…”

He walks across the store, stepping over the unconscious criminal on the floor. He pulls his smart phone out as he does so, dialing 911 and putting it on speaker as he sets up a fresh pot of coffee.

“Hey, it’s Foggy Nelson again,” the man—Foggy?—says cheerfully to the operator. “Some poor sap just tried to rob us again—yeah, the Daredevil showed up and stopped him.”

“Is the Daredevil still there?”

Without pause, Foggy says, “Nope. He peaced out after.”

Matt tilts his head at the lie. The man is a smooth liar, though judging by his heartbeat, he doesn’t tell lies often. 

“Sit tight,” the phone operator tells him. “We’ll send somebody out.”

“Sure,” Foggy agrees then hangs up the phone. The coffee pot start to bubble in front of him, and Matt scuffs his boots against the floor as he walks around the store, tapping the criminal with his foot as he moves to sit on the edge of the front counter, pushing what seems like a textbook out of the way.

“Foggy, huh?” he asks, lightly kicking out his legs to give himself something to do. If it makes him look a little more approachable, well, that would be a nice benefit as well. 

“My name’s actually ‘Franklin’,” Foggy says. “But, ugh, Franklin, you know?”

Matt chuckles but shrugs so as not to offend.

“It’s okay, I know it’s awful,” Foggy says with a laugh. Then, sarcastically: “Oh, and, yeah, go ahead and make yourself at home, why don’tcha?” Thankfully, he laughs, so Matt can tell he’s not actually angry about it. “Just don’t bend the pages of my textbooks; they’re rentals.”

“I’ll be careful,” Matt says. “Are you in college, then?”

Foggy moves to lean back against the counter with the coffee supplies, facing Matt but with perhaps eight feet of space and an unconscious robber between them. 

“Law school, actually. I go to Columbia.” Unlike others who might say that, there’s no bragging in his tone.

Matt’s eyebrows raise automatically at it, but he quickly makes his face neutral to cover. He belatedly remembers that he’s wearing the mask, and his expressions can’t be seen anyways. “You’re working and in law school at the same time?”

Foggy huffs a laugh. “Yeah, it sucks,” he says frankly. “But I always wanted to go into law; I wasn’t going to let it pass me by.”

Nodding, Matt says, “That’s honorable.”

Foggy snorts and says, “Not sure if you meant that sarcastically or not, but I’ll take it.”

He did not mean it sarcastically. Before he can apologize and correct himself, Foggy asks:

“You ever go to college?”

Matt smirks. He debates how much he should let on, perhaps for a couple of moments too long.

“What, is that too personal?” Foggy asks, though there’s a teasing tone in his voice. 

“Perhaps a little,” Matt says. After a second, he admits: “I did go to school, I’ll give you that.”

“What’d you study?” Foggy asks. 

Matt just smiles.

After a moment, Foggy laughs again. He does that a lot. “Alright, alright, I get it. Let’s talk about something else.” He seems to think about it for a moment, but the speed at which he asks his next question makes Matt thinks he had it prepared in advance: “Why do you do—this?”

He does some hand gesture when he says “this,” perhaps a finger wiggle, and Matt’s sure he’s referring to Daredevil.

Matt crosses his ankles, putting his hands behind him to lean back, careful of the textbook. “That’s a heavy question,” he comments. “If you could do it, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” Foggy answers quickly, yet honestly. “I wouldn’t.”

Matt hums. Then he shrugs. “Well, I can, and I do,” he says simply. “Just trying to help.”

“Not everyone agrees with that.”

Matt shrugs again. Not much he can do about it but be himself. His reputation’s been getting better over time, too; with other vigilantes entering the scene over the years, society as a whole has widened the debate on the morality of vigilantism. 

Doesn’t mean certain members of the police-force wouldn’t jump at a chance to bring him in. 

Cutting through the silence, Foggy asks, “So, what? One day you just decided to run around at night taking down criminals?”

Not quite how Matt would choose to word it, but he’s more-or-less right. “Pretty much,” Matt answers. “I have the skills needed for it; I may as well use them.”

Foggy hums, shifting his position against the counter. “I suppose,” he says after a moment, though he sounds like he would rather say something else on the matter.

The coffee pot beeps, letting them know the brew is finished, and Foggy pushes away from the counter, moving to fill two paper cups with dark-roast coffee. 

“We have teeny creamers, if you want some. Let’s see, we have vanilla, caramel—”

“I’ll have the Irish cream,” Matt interjects, if only to make Foggy laugh again.

Foggy pauses for a moment before he laughs. “I’m going to assume that was a lucky guess. Unless you have coffee-related superpowers?”

“I’m psychic,” Matt says seriously.

There’s quiet for a moment. Then: “That was a joke, right?”

Matt lets a smile crack across his face. “Yes, that was a joke.”

Foggy nods as he opens up the cream and pours it into one cup. Then he puts some vanilla into his own. “Do you have any superpowers? It seems like most of you vigilantes have superpowers.”

Matt smirks. “Nope, no superpowers,” he says, and he’s not really sure if it’s a lie or not. 

Foggy clearly doesn’t believe him as he says, “Riiiight.” He walks across the store, stepping over the criminal, and holds out the cup for Matt, who sits up then reaches for it—slowly, to make sure he doesn’t miss it. 

“Thanks,” Matt says with a nod.

“Anything for a regular,” Foggy replies, a smirk curling around the words. He blows on his coffee then takes a sip and says, nodding towards the criminal, who’s just starting to wake up, “Thanks for taking care of that guy. Even though, I have to say, I’m not sure if I agree with vigilantism.”

Matt scoffs, though he keeps the smile on his face. “Bite the hand that feeds,” he remarks, and Foggy laughs. 

“Sorry,” he says, clearly not sorry about it. Matt has to appreciate the honesty; most would never dare say something like that to him while in the suit. “What can I say? I’m a lawyer in the making.”

Oh, isn’t that ironic? 

“Fair enough,” Matt says, even though a part of him wants to change Foggy’s mind. 

They drink their coffees in silence, Matt listening out for the city over the groans of the criminal on the floor. Sirens appear, and once Matt makes out that they’re headed this way, he drains the rest of his coffee then jumps down from the counter.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says, tossing the cup backwards into the trash can behind the counter. 

He starts walking towards the door but stops when Foggy says:

“Feel free to stop in if you ever want a cup. I’m here Tuesday through Saturday.”

Matt nods. “I might take you up on that,” he says, even though he knows he won’t. 

Foggy snorts as though he recognizes it’s a lie. “Just saying: the offer’s open. Might keep people from robbing the place if they walk in and see you hanging around.”

“That’s a good point,” Matt says. “Have a nice night.”

The door ding-dongs as he opens it to leave, and he steps into the shade of the alley as the police turn onto the street. 

After a couple seconds spent listening to Foggy and making sure the criminal stays down, Matt repels back up onto the rooftop of the deli, saying to his lurker:

“Somebody’s nosy today.”

Spider-Kid breathes a laugh, lying, “I wasn’t eavesdropping.” He continues, scuffing his shoes on the ground, “You know, I could have handled this one.”

Matt snorts. The police roll up to the curb, so he walks in the other direction, saying over his shoulder, “Let’s go somewhere else. Lee’s Hardware?”

The kid grins so hard his teeth click. “Race ya!” he says, already jumping from the rooftop and shooting his web-shooters.

Rolling his eyes, but unable to help his smirk, Matt leaps to the next rooftop, taking his own winding path that ends with him landing on Lee’s just an instant before the kid.

“No way!” the kid exclaims. “How?!”

Matt chuckles, evening out his breathing pattern to make sure he doesn’t appear winded. He checks over the kid, making sure he hasn’t gotten injured in the time since Matt last saw him. 

“I’ve been out here a lot longer than you have, kid,” he explains simply.

“I’m not a kid,” the kid claims. “I’m Spider- _ Man _ .”

“It’ll catch on,” Matt teases. 

In the few weeks since the kid’s attempted to break onto the scene, the media’s found itself unable to agree on a moniker for him. “Arachno-Boy” seems to be a fan-favorite, and probably Matt’s favorite, too, if he’s being honest.

The kid groans, face-palming. After a moment, he removes his hand and says, “You were in that deli for a while. Everything okay?”

Matt doesn’t want to teach the kid bad habits, like accepting drinks from strangers, so he says simply, “I was making sure the man working was alright.”

Nodding, the kid asks hesitantly, “Was he?”

Matt can’t remember the last time he had this much idealism. Before law school, maybe. 

“He’s fine,” Matt says. He pauses to listen to a threat a couple blocks West then turns towards it, saying, “Mugging. Wanna come watch?”

“How about I take this one?” the kid asks.

“Not yet,” Matt says, leaping to the next rooftop. To his surprise, the kid doesn’t swing away; he runs beside Matt, making the same jumps, if a bit hesitantly. 

“Come on, it’s just a mugging. When am I gonna get a chance to help?”

“When it’s safe to,” Matt says. “Or when you’re eighteen.”

Sigh-groaning, the kid says, “I told you, I’m twenty, not a kid.”

Matt doesn’t respond to that one. He’s pretty sure even a regular person could hear the lie in his voice.

Regardless of his complaining, the kid stays out of the way through the mugging, watching from the side-lines as Matt shows him:

“Now, I don’t know if you can tell, but he’s got a knife in his back-pocket.”

“What the fuck?” the mugger says, firing a shot that lodges itself in the brickwork of the wall to the left of Matt.

After kicking the gun out of the mugger’s hand, cracking a bone in the man’s wrist in the process, Matt says, “Now, pay attention to this move.”

He grabs onto the mugger’s wrist, holding it tight in both hands and swinging it out to the side to give space to spin underneath it, turning to face the same direction as the man and wrenching his arm behind his back. He holds the man’s arm with one hand, snatching the knife out of his pocket with the other and tossing it backwards over his shoulder. Then he grabs the opposite shoulder, pulls, and kicks the man’s knee in, making him fall to the ground. 

“You wanna tie him up?” he asks the kid, who literally jumps from his position on the roof beside the alley, entirely too eager to get in on the action.

Still conscious and barely banged up at all, the mugger really is let off easy, stuck to the ground with Spider-Kid’s webs and left shouting after Matt and the kid as they walk away.

“That was awesome,” the kid says. He webs the gun and knife to the ground, too, when Matt points to them, and speed-walks to catch up. “How’d you know he had a knife on him?”

“You didn’t see it?” Matt asks with a smirk. More seriously, he says, “You have to pay attention. Never let your guard down. Always assume it’s a worst-case scenario.”

The kid nods. “Gotcha,” he says. He crawls up the wall as Matt pulls himself up onto the next roof by its fire-escape. 

After finding the Kitchen clear—at least for now—and with no stray listeners around, Matt sits down on the edge of the rooftop, legs hanging down over the side of it. He hears the kid do the same. After a moment of silence, Matt asks:

“How defined are your senses?”

The kid’s heart-rate kicks up. “Uh, what do you mean?” he asks, nervous.

That’s something to work on another day. 

“I know you can hear pretty well,” Matt remarks. He’s nowhere near Matt’s level with it, but the kid can definitely hear better than average, sometimes picking up on nearby crimes at the same time Matt does. “What about the others—smell, taste. Sight.”

He nearly forgets to tack sight on at the end. Luckily for him, the kid doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

After a brief hesitation, the kid says, “They’re okay. Probably better than a normal person.”

Matt nods. He can work with that. “You need to focus on them.”

“Is that how you knew about the knife? You were looking for it?”

“I smelled it, too,” Matt says. 

“That’s so cool,” the kid whispers. 

Matt rolls his eyes, hiding his laugh. “You can do it, too,” he says, though he’s not entirely sure of that. Still, he continues, “Close your eyes and pay attention.”

The kid’s quiet for a few seconds. 

Voice disgusted, he says, “Rust.”

Matt finds himself barking a laugh at that. “That’s the fire escape,” he says. “Can you taste it, too?”

He’s pretty sure the kid looks at him. “Why would I want to do that?”

“It’s an exercise,” Matt explains. Though it gives him an idea. “Here, let’s try something else.”

He stands back up, brushing his hands off on his thighs, and he hears the kid do the same. He winds his way back up North, the kid following beside him on his webs. They come to a stop, and Matt says:

“Now what do you notice?”

The kid starts to take a breath in then stops abruptly. 

“Holy shit, that smells so good!” he says.

“Language,” Matt find himself reprimanding. 

“Oh, come on,” the kid complains. “I’m gonna be a superhero. I think I’m allowed one swear.”

“It’s not about being a superhero,” Matt objects. “And you can swear when you aren’t still in high school.” Before the kid can interject with more lies about his age, Matt continues, “Do you recognize what restaurant we’re on?”

“I don’t think I’ve been here before,” the kid says. 

It’s kind of hole-in-the-wall, so Matt doesn’t blame him. “Tell me some stuff that they serve.”

The kid seems to think it over for a few seconds. “Pasta. Chicken.”

“Good. What else?”

“Uhh, olive oil. Wine. Coffee?”

“Tiramisu,” Matt says. “You ever had it?”

“I don’t really like coffee.”

“You will someday,” Matt says. This kid is so young. Back to instructing-mode, he says, “You have five senses. You need to use all of them at all times.”

“That sounds kinda overwhelming.”

“That’s why you practice. You never know what you might miss if you aren’t paying attention.”

The kid hums, and a smile curls around his words as he says, “Okay, but maybe not all five at once. That seems like overkill. Two or three?”

Matt lets his silence speak for itself.

“Oh, come on,” the kid says. “There’s no way you’re actually paying attention to all of them all the time.”

“Alright, maybe not at all times,” Matt relents. “My point is that you need to learn to pay attention to your surroundings, and not just visually. You miss a lot when you rely only on sight.”

The kid nods. “That’s fair. Okay, I’ll try it!”

“Good.” Matt nods. 

They both perk up when they hear shouting a few blocks away. 

Matt smirks. “Pay attention this time,” he says. “I’ll be quizzing you after.”


	2. Dangerous Distractions

If Matt could will the coffee to drip faster, he would. In this moment, he can’t remember a time he wanted an espresso-maker more.

“Matt, I’m sure you don’t mean to, but you are giving that coffee pot a very intense look,” Karen says from her reception desk. “If looks could kill…”

“Believe me, it’s intentional,” Matt replies over his shoulder. Still, he straightens up from where he’s bent down to be at eye-level with the thing, dangling his mug from one hand. 

“Another late night?” Karen asks distractedly, penning something into her planner.

“You have no idea,” Matt mutters. 

Between deli robberies and babysitting, Matt was lucky to eek out the four hours that he got. Certainly better than some nights, but considering the last time he managed the doctor-recommended eight hours was well over a month ago, he’s beyond in need of a break. Next week, for sure.

“On the bright side, that case has to be yours by a long-shot,” Karen says with pep. 

Matt strains a smile. “Definitely,” he agrees. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want Karen to know about his Daredevil activities. It’s just…complicated. 

He shakes his head as though that will help clear his thoughts then asks, “Remind me, what’s on the schedule for today?”

Karen hums, flipping through her planner then saying, “Alright, it’s looking like you’ve got that meeting with Miss Korhonen at eleven—oh, and don’t forget your interview at twelve-thirty.”

“Right,” Matt says with a slow nod. He offers her a genuine smile. “Thanks, Karen.”

“What would you do without me?” she replies, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

They laugh, but it’s true; Matt truly does care for and appreciate Karen’s presence in his life. Besides Claire and Father Lantom, she’s the only person Matt can truly count on and refer to as a friend. 

“I still can’t believe you haven’t told her,” Claire says when the topic comes up another night.

Matt hums, lips pressed together tight. 

She pushes the needle through him again, saying, “You said you’ve known her for how long?”

“A year,” he answers. “She’s been working with me for most of that time.”

“And she’s your closest friend?”

“She’s one of my only friends,” Matt answers, honestly. “That might be for the best. It’s safer to know fewer people.”

“Less casualties when this inevitably explodes in your face,” Claire remarks, and Matt blames his flinch on the needle.

She sighs. She pulls the thread tight and ties it off, patting his ribs above the wound and saying, “Just be careful. I do actually like you, you know.”

Matt smirks. “I like you, too.”

She snorts and shoves at his shoulder. “Not the way you’re thinking.”

“I know, Claire. I know.”

That was for the best, too. Dating and friendship—they’re all distractions. Dangerous distractions. Yet in spite of his training, he finds them irresistible. 

“Just think about it,” Claire says. “Despite what you think, she’s in no more danger if she knows who you are and what you can do.”

Matt wants to interject, but Claire interrupts him, continuing, “I know you don’t want to admit it, and I mean this in the best way possible, but you’re making excuses for yourself.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Matt says, because he doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t want to disrespect her.

“My advice is wasted on you.” She slaps a piece of gauze overtop her fresh stitches and says, “Just like this one: take it easy for the next couple of days.”

Breathing a laugh, Matt sits up, saying, “I’ll do my best.”

“You always do,” Claire says, with the tone of voice that means she might be rolling her eyes with it.

He opens his mouth to reassure her but ultimately just settles on a nod. “Thank you again, Claire.”

“Thank me by staying out of trouble,” she says. Then, softer: “Be safe, Matt.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He finds the kid where he left him, a couple minutes South-West. He stands up from where he’s been sitting on the rooftop when Matt lands behind him.

“Everything okay?” the kid asks hesitantly, hands in front of him as though he wants to reach out. 

“This isn’t what you want,” Matt says, going a different route to convince him than he usually does. “I just got four stitches in the side. You ever gotten stitches before?”

“Once,” the kid admits. 

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

The kid sighs. “Look, I get what you’re saying, but I know the risks!”

“Do you?” Matt steps forward. “I got lucky today. I’ve been stabbed and shot and choked. If I didn’t have the training I’ve had, I’d be dead by now.”

“Then train me, if you care so much!”

Matt lets out a slow breath. He doesn’t get it, does he?

“You’re a teenager. You think you know the risks, but you don’t. Do you have parents?”

“No.” His voice is harsh, practically spitting the word. But it softens when he continues, “I don’t.”

The fight leaves Matt’s system. He rubs a hand over his face, moving to sit on the edge of the building. 

“I’ve been there.” Matt pats the ground beside him, and the kid sits after a moment. “Do you have anyone?”

Sighing, the kid says, “Yeah. An uncle.”

“What’s he have to say about this?”

He breathes a laugh, though it has no humor in it. “He has no idea. And I’m looking to keep it that way.”

“He good to you?”

The kid nods. “The best.” He brushes some plastic away from the ground behind him then lays back, facing the sky. “I just—he’s so stressed out. It’s just us, you know? I can’t do that to him.”

Quiet falls around them for a moment. 

“That’s what you’re risking while you’re out here,” Matt says finally. “You think it’s all glitz and glamour, but it’s not. It’s blood and broken bones. What will you tell him when you show up with bruises all over your face?”

“I’ll say I fell. Or got in a fight.”

“What about when you come home with your arm in a sling?”

“I heal fast.”

Matt takes a breath. “What about when you don’t get to go home?” 

That makes the kid go quiet. 

Seconds pass. Then, finally, the kid says, “I can’t—I just can’t. This is something that I have to do. It’s like—I have these powers, now, and when I don’t use them, people get hurt. I can help. I just want to help.” His voice hardens as he says, “And I’m going to. I know you think you’re responsible for me since you’re an adult, but you’re not. I’ve already made up my mind.”

This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation in the few weeks since they met. It probably won’t be the last, either. 

Matt lets out a slow breath. “We’ll train again tomorrow.”

The kid pulls in a breath. “Thank you—uh, but, I can’t tomorrow. Tuesday?”

Matt nods. “Tuesday. You have school tomorrow; go get some sleep.”

“I don’t have school because I’m an adult,” the kid claims as he stands up, though Matt can hear the smile in his words. “But you have fun at your…doctor job.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Matt says. “Nice guess, though.”

“Oh, come on,” the kid says. “How else could you afford your fancy suit? Speaking of which…”

“Sleep,” Matt says, and the kid laughs as he swings away. 

Matt could follow him this time. 

He follows his own and Claire’s advice and goes home instead.

\----------------

“Another dud?” Karen asks as Matt shakes his head.

Accepting an intern seems like a grand idea on paper. In practice…

“Another Daddy’s Money-type,” Matt explains, tossing the resume—which Karen had to read to him—in the recycling bin. “I know you think I’m being too harsh—”

Karen covers up her laugh with a cough. 

“—I’m just trying to make sure we aren’t stuck with a complete douchebag all summer. Pardon my French.”

“Damn, Sassy-Matt comes out! We haven’t seen him since New Year’s.”

Matt rolls his eyes, breathing a laugh and moving to the spare room to refill his coffee. “New Year’s was completely justified,” he starts, but Karen jumps in before he performs the same rant again.

“I know; you’re right,” she says. “But I mean, are you sure you even want an intern? I mean, I thought that Steven-guy seemed okay.”

Matt hums. “He wasn’t bad…”

“See! Just think about it. We probably won’t get Mr. Perfect, but there’s always next year.”

“You’re right,” Matt says then takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ll make a decision soon.”

“You do that,” she says, tone teasing. “Also, let me know how Miss Korhonen’s case is going; her sister’s been calling basically every day for updates, and I’m running out of stuff to throw at her.”

“I’ll fill you in by tomorrow,” Matt assures her. “Remind me to email you if I forget.”

“Gotcha.”

Miss Aada Korhonen is a soft-spoken young lady in the city on student-exchange. After being caught on camera trespassing near an old warehouse by the Hudson, her case was passed along to Matt, who primarily only accepted it due to it seemingly being open-and-shut.

It might not be so open-and-shut.

“Why were you there?” Matt asked the first time he met with her, leaning forward on the table across from her. 

“I was exploring,” she said, and it was a lie.

“Just exploring? Miss Korhonen, please do not lie to me. I am your attorney; I need to know everything.”

Heart beating fast, she claimed, “Just exploring.”

The other side is definitely going to use the pepper spray in her pocket to try for some extra charges, so by day, Matt creates a solid case for her. 

By night, he decides to get to the bottom of it.

Again, easier said than done; he gets to the warehouse, and he’s certain it’s the same address, but it’s completely empty inside—only filled with leftover smells of warehouse-must and something sweet. Something was here recently, but whatever it was, it’s gone, now. 

He tries to hunt for where the group has left to, but even smelling nearly every warehouse in the Kitchen brings up nothing. 

Exhausted, and it’s barely past midnight, he has a brief loss of sanity and does something he never thought he’d do: he goes to buy a coffee.

For once, he opens the deli door like a regular person, strolling in under the ding-dong as Foggy says distractedly:

“Hey, how’s it—oh. It’s you.”

Matt chuckles. “It’s me,” he confirms. Suddenly unsure what to say next, he settles on, “I heard you sell coffee.”

“I knew it; nobody can resist the Nelson Dark Roast,” Foggy says, and he sets his pen down on the table, walking around the front counter towards the coffee counter. “Long night ahead of you?”

“I guess we’ll see,” Matt says. If he’s lucky, he’ll be back home by four. He takes his seat on the front counter again as he says it, careful of—this time two textbooks.

“You know, that raises a good question,” Foggy says as he dumps the old grinds and pops a fresh filter in. “What is your schedule like? Do you just randomly decide when to go out and when to go back to your Bat-Cave?”

Matt snorts. “If only I could afford a Bat-Cave in this city.” He offers a shrug, saying, “I stay out for as long as I’m needed.”

“But how do you know when you’re needed? It’s clearly not just luck,” Foggy points out, and he tears open a package of grinds to pour it in. After a pause, he says, “Unless fantastic luck is your superpower.”

Matt feels himself relaxing, giving an honest laugh at that. “I told you: I don’t have superpowers.” 

He considers whether he should share more or not. It’s for the best that the extent of his senses stays mostly under-wraps; who knows what somebody like Fisk could do with that knowledge? But on the other hand, most criminals are starting to catch on to certain aspects of his abilities already. 

Matt decides to share, “I just go where I hear trouble.”

“So you have super-hearing,” Foggy surmises. “You realize that’s a superpower, right?”

Matt shrugs. 

Foggy huffs a laugh, clicking the button that starts the brew. 

“So, what’s new?” Matt asks to make conversation, kicking his legs out.

“Oh, you know,” Foggy says vaguely, “work, school. Just the same old. What about you?”

“Oh, you know,” Matt parrots, grinning at Foggy’s groan. “Crime, crime-fighting. Though it seems somebody has opinions on that.”

Foggy shrugs as he moves to lean against the coffee counter like last time. “Not trying to be an asshole about it, but of course.”

“I suppose everybody has an opinion on it these days, huh?”

The debate has become wide-spread throughout the city. As a whole, Matt’s noticed maybe a fifty-fifty split. Hell’s Kitchen has a more positive view on vigilante justice, likely since those are the citizens who have benefitted the most.

“Pretty hard not to,” Foggy agrees. “How do you feel about it?”

Matt sits up in surprise. “Not sure if I’ve been asked that before,” he says, honestly. He tilts his head as he thinks it over. “Obviously I’m not opposed to it,” he starts.

“Obviously,” Foggy says with a snort. 

“I suppose a part of me has lost faith in the system. When you hear the things that I hear…” He shakes his head. “It’s near impossible to not feel responsible. There are some things I can do that the police can’t—the opposite is true, as well. We need both, that’s what I think.”

“A lot of people are nervous about one person having this much power. How do you feel about that?” Foggy asks as though this is an interview. Matt supposes that to him, it might as well be.

“I wouldn’t say I have much power,” Matt contradicts. “I can rough criminals up a bit, but I can’t actually make the decision to jail them; that’s up to the police force and the court.”

“So you think it’s fine that you’re just left alone to, in your words, ‘rough up’ whoever you deem a criminal.”

Tense yet exhilarated from the debate, Matt says, “I understand your point, but I’m not very subjective with my criteria for who I ‘rough up’.”

“Right,” Foggy says sarcastically. “And we should just trust you despite not knowing who you are and having no way to hold you to your actions?”

“We have a broken system,” Matt counters. “I can agree that my way may not be the best way, but you can’t say it’s any worse than what we had before. That’s not even mentioning the lack of manpower available since half the force was locked up; what do you suppose would happen to the neighborhood if I stopped now?”

Foggy takes a moment to consider this. 

“So… What? You just do this forever?”

“If I have to.”

Foggy shakes his head. “Here’s the part I’m most worried about,” he says, moving to grab a couple of cups when the brew starts to wind down. “Let’s say I trust you to do your thing and act in everybody’s best interest. Who’s to say the next guy who decides to put on a mask will do the same thing?”

Matt rolls the thought around in his head, lips moving to the side as he mills it over. Finally, he smirks. “Then I take care of it if things go South,” he says, and Foggy breathes a disbelieving laugh.

“You can’t possibly take care of everything.”

“Watch me,” Matt says with a shrug. He thinks of the kid and adds, “There will always be people like me around. We just have to hope that’ll be enough.”

Foggy walks over with their coffees and holds out Matt’s. 

“Thank you,” Foggy says. “That was an interesting conversation.”

“I thought so, too,” Matt says as he accepts the coffee. “You’ll make a good lawyer, I think.”

“You wouldn’t be bad, yourself,” Foggy points out, and doesn’t this hit just a bit too close to home?

“Not for me,” Matt says, taking a sip of his coffee. He smirks. “I’m too honest.”

That makes Foggy laugh, saying, “Do you hear yourself right now?”

Matt opens his mouth to respond but freezes when he hears something just a couple blocks away.

“Shit,” he swears, and he sets his coffee on the table and jumps down. “Gotta go.”

That fucking kid will be the death of him. 

“Good luck,” he hears from Foggy on his way out the door.

By the time he gets to the fight, it’s already over. Thank God, Spider-Man is the one who ended it.

“—sure that you call the police once you get a safe distance away.”

The young man the kid’s talking to— _ young man _ , he’s older than the kid—uh-huh’s and nods and ultimately jogs away with terrible form. 

Spider-Man turns to the webbed-to-the-ground criminal. “And you—” 

Matt chooses this moment to drop down. 

“Oh, Double-D!” the kid sounds excited, heart still racing. “Check it out!”

Matt stays quiet. 

After a second, the kid puts a hand on his hip, saying, “Oh, come on! You can’t be mad. Look, everything’s fine! I did it!”

Letting out a slow breath, Matt considers how to play this. Finally, he relaxes and says, “Nice work.”

The kid perks up.

“Next time please wait for me to get there.”

The kid perks down.

“Hey, I waited!” he defends. “How long am I supposed to wait for? What if you don’t show up?”

Matt heard the whole thing. He hates to admit it, but the kid’s right: Matt wouldn’t have gotten there in time.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

They end up on the rooftop of a long-abandoned restaurant with boarded-up windows and only dust bunnies inside.

“You did the right thing today,” Matt says when they’re both seated on the edge. “Let’s go over some ground rules.”

“More ground rules?” the kid complains, but there’s no heat in it.

Matt breathes a laugh. “Yes,” he says. “More ground rules.”

He improvises a list, and thankfully the kid seems willing—if reluctant—to follow it. 

“—and what do we do if there’s a gun?”

“We call the police or wait for you to get there,” the kid repeats, monotoned but with a small quirk to his lips.

“Good.” He claps the kid on the back. 

They sit there for a couple of minutes, Matt debating going back for his coffee until he hears the kid’s stomach rumble. 

“Hungry?” he asks.

Awkwardly, the kid laughs and says, “Yeah, a little.”

Matt stands up, saying, “Why don’t we go to that deli? I could go for a coffee.”

“Um, actually,” the kid interjects, suddenly nervous. “I’m good. I have class tomorrow and should probably hit the hay early tonight.”

Matt nods slowly. There’s something fishy about this, but he also is pleased to hear the kid will be getting some sleep tonight.

“Alright. I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Yeah, definitely,” the kid says as he shoots out a web. “See ya!”

Listening out on the city and finding it quiet, he shakes his head at himself and goes back for his coffee, praying Foggy hasn’t thrown away yet.

He walks back into the deli, and Foggy says, “Hey, you’re back.”

Matt just nods, picking up his coffee from where he left it. It’s lukewarm by this point, so Matt takes a long couple sips of it. 

“I see you brought a few textbooks today,” Matt comments, reaching across the counter to tap the books with one hand. 

Foggy groans from his place on the stool behind the counter. “Finals,” he says simply, and Matt sympathizes. 

“What year are you in?”

“Two.”

“And that’s out of…four?” Matt plays dumb.

“No, just three,” Foggy corrects, none the wiser. He chuckles to himself and says, “ _ Just _ three.”

“I’ve heard it’s pretty intense,” Matt comments. 

“You can say that again. You have perfect timing; I had just been thinking about how bad I could use a cup of coffee tonight.”

“Happy to help.” He’s quiet for a moment, taking in the tenseness throughout Foggy. He tilts his head and says, “You seem stressed.”

“Is that more of your psychic-sense?” Foggy asks in good humor. He ruffles a hand through his hair and says, “Law school finals are no joke, man.”

“Do you not study throughout the semester?” Matt asks, not trying to be rude but a little curious; by his own second year of law school, he’d already mostly figured everything out, at least in terms of test-taking. It was the first year that had him the most stressed.

“Of course I do,” Foggy replies, face heating up in a way that could mean he’s either embarrassed or angry, though Matt can’t tell which. “It’s just—I don’t want to rant at you.”

Matt holds out a hand. “I don’t mind.”

Foggy lets out a breath. Then he pulls one in and says, “So, I don’t know if you know this, but the second year is, like, the most important one. I absolutely  _ need  _ to find a decent firm to intern at over the summer, and I had one, but it fell through last minute, so.” He sighs, rubbing his face with both hands and saying pathetically, “I’m having a straight-up bad time right now.”

Pulling in a breath through his teeth, Matt says, “That sounds rough.” Before he can even think about it, he says, “You know, I know a lawyer.”

He proceeds to swear internally at himself. He follows through, saying:

“Not sure if he’s what you’re looking for, but he does good work.”

“Thanks, but—”

“Did you pay any attention to the Castle-case?”

Foggy goes quiet. His heart speeds up. 

_Why_ is Matt trying to convince him of this? They’ve shared coffee one-and-a-half times. They are not friends, and Matt doesn’t know that he can trust this guy. He should back-track. He should come up with a lie. 

“Shut up,” Foggy says. “You know Murdock? What, is he every vigilante’s lawyer? God, that case was all my classmates would talk about all year.”

“He helped me out once,” Matt makes up. “I don’t know if he’s looking for an intern, but it could be worth asking. I’ll put in a good word.”

Foggy lets out a slow breath despite his clear excitement. “You should know you haven’t won me over with this.” He points a finger, saying, “I still don’t agree with you.”

Matt tilts his head back and laughs, snapping his fingers and saying, “My plan, foiled.”

“Knew it,” Foggy jokes back. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Seriously, thank you. Even if it falls through, I really appreciate the effort.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Matt says. He coughs when he realizes how normal his voice sounds and tries to modify it just a bit lower as he makes the same inside-joke, “Anything for a regular.”

Foggy shakes his head at it, but Matt can hear the minute laugh under his breath. 

They drink their coffee, and Matt tries to focus just on the night ahead of him. His big mouth may have messed this one up, but he can fix that. Tomorrow.

\----------------

Karen’s out getting lunch, which is why Matt’s the one who stands up to greet the visitor who knocks on the door. 

“Yes, come on in,” he calls to them as he walks around his desk and out of his office, snagging his glasses off the corner of his desk on the way. 

“Good afternoon,” the man—Foggy—says as he closes the door behind him. “My name is Franklin Nelson. I have an application for the internship position described on your website.” 

“Oh,” Matt says, nodding, “you could have submitted it online; you didn’t have to trouble yourself to come here.”

“I submitted it through email as well; I knew I’d be in the area today anyways—” Lie— “and thought it would be convenient to have a physical copy on hand.”

Matt holds a hand out to accept it, saying, “Thank you, I’ll have my secretary—oh.”

“Hopefully you’ll find no issues with readability,” Foggy says as Matt rubs his thumb over the braille application.

“Impressive,” Matt says with a genuine smile. “Do you know somebody vision-impaired?”

“No, sir.”

Interesting. So he must have at least sought help with printing it, likely on the same embosser Matt and his instructors used in his time at Columbia. 

“Well, Mr. Nelson—”

“Please, call me ‘Foggy’.”

Matt raises his eyebrows to show surprise then holds out a hand, saying, “Only if you call me ‘Matt’.”

They shake, and Foggy has a Goldilocks grip; not bone-crushing like some of the other applicants, but not limp, either. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Foggy says.

“You, as well.” Matt feels his watch when he gets his hand back and considers the time. “I’m between tasks—” A lie of his own— “and wouldn’t mind speaking with you now, if you’re not too busy.”

Despite his heart-rate kicking up, Foggy says calmly, “I have time.”

“Great. If you’ll just follow me…”

Matt leads him to the spare room he and Karen have been conducting interviews in, which doubles as a copy-, coffee-, and break-room. 

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” Matt offers, and the irony is not lost on him. 

“That would be nice, thank you,” Foggy agrees, his professional-side a stark comparison to the casual night-shift deli employee Matt’s met before. 

Matt starts them off: “So, tell me about what areas of law interest you.”

Matt knows Foggy’s eloquent from their debate the night before, but it’s nice to see more of that. As Daredevil, there’s only so much that can be asked before alarm bells start to ring. As Murdock, Matt can hold an actual, honest conversation, testing Foggy’s knowledge and opinions on law and even give some of his own. 

“Can you tell me about a challenge you’ve faced and how you overcame it?” 

Foggy sits back against his chair. “Yes,” he says. After a moment, he starts gently, “Three years ago, my sister and brother-in-law passed away.”

Matt makes a sympathetic noise, nodding his head. 

Foggy continues, “I was just getting out of undergrad and getting ready to settle down at Columbia for my JD. But my nephew—for a plethora of reasons, I ended up being the one to take him in.”

“How old is your nephew?”

“He’s fifteen, now,” Foggy answers. He smiles as he says, “Taking care of Peter is definitely the greatest challenge I’ve faced, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Matt nods. “So you’re raising your nephew and in law school at the same time?”

“I work, too,” Foggy adds, and Matt shakes his head in wonder. 

Rubbing his thumb over the resume, Matt says, “Impressive GPA, considering.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They wind down their conversation, and Matt offers his hand once more. Telling Foggy about this position had been a mistake, but it wouldn’t be fair to not give him a fair shot. Especially since—and Matt might be biased—the interview was probably the best he’s had so far. Foggy is definitely the most likeable of his current candidates.

“Thank you for your time, Foggy. I’ll be in touch.”

“I look forward to it,” Foggy says.

Matt chuckles when he hears Foggy fist-pump in the hallway, more so when he hears Karen outright laugh at it.

“Interview go well?” she asks Foggy quietly.

“Hopefully. Foggy Nelson, nice to meet you.”

They end up talking for a couple of minutes, and Matt tunes it out to be polite. He gets back to work at his desk, looking up when Karen reenters the firm with their lunch, shutting the door behind her. 

She walks up to Matt’s desk and just smiles at him. “Well?”

“What?” Matt asks.

She laughs, plopping his takeout box on his desk and saying, “You know what! That Foggy-guy, how’d it go?”

“He might be the one,” Matt admits.

“Halleluiah!”

\----------------

Things look like they’re changing for the better. Of course, this is when fate decides to throw a wrench in things.

The kid’s heartbeat is quick. Too quick.

“Daredevil,” he’s calling, swinging fast from blocks away. “Daredevil!” 

He lands harshly on the rooftop, and Matt walks over to meet him. 

He’s uninjured, but—

“You’re gonna want to see this,” the kid says.

He smells different. 

He smells sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who took the time to comment on the first chapter! It warmed my heart to see other people enjoying my story. 
> 
> To address Matt’s firm: he’s still rink-a-dink af. He just happened to hook a big fish that gave him some attention, which is why it wouldn’t look terrible for some average or below average students to intern there. That’s how I see it anyway, *shrugs*. 
> 
> Also, it suddenly hit me that maybe "deli" might not be a very good description of where Foggy works. I'm going to go back and edit Ch.1 at some point to better describe it, but basically just picture a small convenience/corner store with sandwich fixin's. That's what delis look like near me, but suddenly I'm worrying that they could look different across the country or especially in NYC. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, guys! Hope you enjoyed.


	3. The Perfect Intern

“You’re kidding me.”

“I thought it was just a regular drug deal,” the kid says, “but then this happened. I already called an ambulance.”

Matt looks over sharply at him. 

“I used her phone,” the kid says, and Matt relaxes. 

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks. 

The woman’s body temperature is raised, and there’s a static hum around her. She has that strange, sweet smell covering her, and it makes Matt’s nose twitch. 

“I don’t know! She freaked out when she saw me and snorted it real quick. And then she started glowing blue!”

Matt’s eyebrows raise. He blinks. 

“…Well, I can see that,” he lies, hoping it isn’t some strange metaphor. 

He gets lucky.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” the kid says. “Do you think she’s okay?”

Matt listens in. “She doesn’t seem like she’s in danger.” The ambulance turns onto the street, so Matt urges the kid towards the wall. “Time to go. The doctors will handle it.”

“Your people,” the kid quips under his breath, and Matt just shakes his head. 

Okay. So this mystery drug is the same one that was once stored or maybe manufactured in the warehouse Miss Korhonen trespassed on. Maybe she’s a former business partner having fallen from grace? But that wouldn’t explain why she refuses to give up the others. There’s something Matt’s missing. 

“What happened to the dealer?”

The kid swallows, scratching at his face. “I, uh… I let him get away.”

Inconvenient, but he likely chose to tend to the victim instead. He made the right choice. 

“Did you see where he went?”

“Uh, West?”

“Then we head West.”

\----------------

“He always does this,” Karen says to Foggy under her breath. “It’s like his morning ritual.”

“I can hear you,” Matt drawls, unable to put any heat in the words. 

Brew, coffee, brew!

“You guys should get one of those timed coffee makers.”

Matt’s head perks up to look towards them. 

Foggy laughs and continues, “You know, the ones that automatically make it at, say—” He raises one hand, perhaps checking his watch— “Eight-thirteen.”

Matt groans. “I know what I want for Christmas.” He should probably be acting more professionally, but he can’t help it. 

Last night was a complete bust. At least the new day means a chance to look at the situation from a different angle. 

“I’ll write it down,” Karen says.

Matt nods. “Hey, also: could you do a little research for me? I want everything you can find on Jerry Quinn.”

Jerry Quinn, the owner of the warehouse and the man who filed the report against Miss Korhonen. Karen’s likely already found something on him, but Matt needs fresh information pronto. 

Karen nods, and she walks to her desk to write it down. 

“Foggy, I’ll give you your cases in a minute,” Matt says, turning to him. “Sorry, but you’ll have to be working out of our coffee room.”

“All I’m hearing is that I get my own office,” Foggy says cheerfully, and Matt smiles with him.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Foggy fits in perfectly. He’s everything that Matt wants in an intern—everything Matt wants in a business partner, if he’ll allow himself to go that far. 

He isn’t late once. He doesn’t mind staying a little over to finish a project. His writing skills are impressive. He’s charming with clients, gaining their trust with seemingly just a look. Hell, he ends up bringing in business of his own: neighbors and family friends and actual, willing-to-pay-something-reasonable clients—something hard to come across in this neck of the woods, especially since Matt finds it hard to reject anybody with a sad story to tell. 

The coffee pot-joke wasn’t a fluke; he’s funny during down-time yet professional when it’s called for. 

Perhaps best yet, after the first time, he doesn't ask questions about the odd bruises and bumps Matt shows up to work with.

After a successful day at court, Foggy introduces Karen and Matt to a bar that might end up becoming a usual haunt. 

“Why hello there, my sweet,” Foggy says to the bartender behind the counter—Josie, Matt has to assume. “How are you this fine evening?”

Josie snarks back at him, but she clearly is fond of his antics, if her smirk is anything to go by. 

They end up drinking a bit too much—something about an eel is all Matt remembers of it—and they end up back at Karen’s place, attempting a game of Monopoly, primarily made difficult by their inebriation. 

Matt fumbles for his dog-piece, the joke behind it being that it’s his non-existent seeing-eye dog, moving it forward his four spaces. 

“Luxury Tax,” Karen claims with a snorted laugh, spilling some water down her chin as she takes a sip while laying sideways. “That’s definitely what you landed on.”

Matt’s deciding whether to object or not when Foggy says:

“Normally I don’t care about the ethics of cheating, but I can’t do him like that. Park Place, three-hundred-fifty. You want it?”

“You get Karen’s holiday bonus,” Matt jokes, scraping together the monopoly bills to pay for the property primarily out of spite. He tosses it to Karen, the self-appointed banker. 

“This is the bonus,” Karen says, holding up the fake monopoly money. 

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” Matt adds, accepting his Park Place card from Foggy. 

“I look forward to it,” Foggy says. He rolls the dice.

Karen groans. “Can we keep him?” she asks towards Matt. “I wanna keep him.”

Honestly, Matt does, too. But Foggy’s a smart cookie. He probably has bigger dreams than working at their rink-a-dink firm forever. 

“Ventnor!” Foggy calls out, cutting through the awkward before it even has a chance to settle. “That’s my second yellow. Don’t mind if I do.”

“You’ll have to pry Marvin Gardens from my cold, dead hands,” Matt tells him. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Foggy says with a shrug. 

Matt laughs. He tries not to scold himself for laughing, but it’s not easy.

Thing is, Matt has to admit that he likes Foggy. He really likes Foggy. He’s trying to keep things professional since he’s technically Foggy’s boss, but it’s near impossible to consider Foggy his employee as opposed to his new friend.

Because that’s what they’ve become, isn’t it? Friends. Tentative friends, friends by chance, but still friends.

“You should get Peter over here,” Karen says as she lazily tilts the dice out of her palm. 

“Oh, he would love this,” Foggy says. “But nah, he’s at a friend’s house tonight. Maybe you guys could come over for dinner sometime.”

For all the hilarious stories they’ve heard about the kid, neither of them have actually met Foggy’s nephew yet. 

“That would be nice,” Matt says, even though he knows he should be distancing himself.

“Yes,” Karen says, drawing out the word so it’s more like “yehhhhssss”. “And I could finally make you guys that potato salad.”

“The legendary potato salad!” Foggy exclaims. “I would like nothing more.”

Even Matt’s been becoming curious about this supposedly magical potato salad, so he says, “I guess I’ll bring wine.”

Karen fist-pumps, telling Foggy, “Say yes; this guy has high-class taste when it comes to wine.”

Matt snorts, unable to deny that he does tend to splurge when he has the opportunity.

“Well, I won’t say no,” Foggy says, and he hands the dice to Matt. “Okay, I’ll plan something out and let you guys know.”

Matt skips patrol that night for obvious reasons, and it’s nice to take a night off. Searching for the dealer with the kid ended up being a complete bust, the only upside being that they were able to stop a few other crimes along the way.

When Matt meets with plump, middle-aged Jerry Quinn the next night, the sun has just barely fallen, and it’s long before he’s set to meet with the kid. Matt lets himself into the man’s apartment (thanks, Karen), interrupting a late-night Wheel of Fortune marathon and scaring the piss out of the man.

Matt covers Quinn’s mouth before he can scream, locking him in a choke-hold with the other arm. 

Quinn panics, hands uselessly clawing at Matt’s arm. 

“Relax,” Matt commands. He loosens his hold by perhaps a centimeter. “If you make a sound, we will play this the hard way. Do you understand?”

Quinn nods frantically.

Matt tightens his hold briefly then lets go, and Quinn folds nearly in half, sucking in a breath and coughing after.

“Don’t test me,” Matt warns as Quinn catches his breath.

Quinn nods, still facing the floor, and he jumps when Matt nudges him towards the couch. 

“Take a seat,” Matt says over Wheel of Fortune.

Matt sits on one end of the couch, and he briefly wonders if the couch is white because he unrepentantly turns to face Quinn, one shoe resting on the couch between them and the other on the floor below. He makes a show of getting comfortable, leaning back in the corner where the cushion and arm-rest meet. 

Meanwhile, Quinn sits facing the TV, back cracking from how tightly-straight he holds it.

Matt lets him squirm under the silence. Then he says, “Good evening, Mr. Quinn. I’m here with a couple of questions for you.”

Quinn shakes his head.

“Any idea what I might be here for?”

Quinn shakes his head some more.

Matt tsks. “Does the name Aada Korhonen sound familiar to you?”

The shaking becomes frantic.

“What was in that warehouse, Mr. Quinn? Who were you selling it out t—” 

“Hel—”

Matt pounces across the space, silencing the yell with his arm and internally cursing him for putting bite-marks in the arm-guard. He wrestles Quinn’s arms down, holding them under his knees and his free hand raising up menacingly.

Voice low, all false politeness gone, Matt says, “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Mr. Quinn. You’re going to tell me everything you know. The question is how many bones you’ll have left at the end of it.”

Quinn whimpers beneath him.

Matt smiles. “We’re going to try this again.” Voice falsely sympathetic, he says, “You’ll be quiet this time, won’t you?”

Quinn swallows then nods.

“Perfect.”

He pulls away slowly, testing, and making sure Quinn will keep his word this time. When TV-noises and a steady, if fast, heartbeat is all he hears, Matt climbs off him but stays within reach, sitting beside him with their thighs touching. 

Quinn pushes himself up, as far into the corner of the couch—away from Matt—as he can get.

As a commercial on heartburn starts up, Matt reaches over and takes Quinn’s far hand, holding it in his own and maneuvering it so that his thumb rests propped against Quinn’s pinkie, flexing it out.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” Matt says, voice just a murmur. “You’re going to answer my questions. And if you yell, or if you lie, I am going to break your finger. Understood?”

“Fuck you,” Quinn says, tears forming in his eyes.

Matt chuckles. “Let’s begin.”

\----------------

“Hey, Daredevil,” the kid greets when Matt lands on the roof beside him. “How was your day at your…teaching job?”

“Do you really think I’m a good enough teacher for it to be my profession?”

The kid hums, the little shit. “Good point,” he says.

Matt rolls his eyes. This game that they play is a funny start to their training nights. Mostly, it works out since they’re both clear that in spite of the kid’s guesswork, neither actually wants to give hints to their identities. This works out for Matt, and he’s relieved that the kid has the sense to keep his vigilantism a secret. 

It’s safer this way, for everybody involved.

“I have some new information on our mystery drug,” Matt says, cutting to the chase. 

The kid straightens up, curious.

Matt does his best explaining what sounded like bullshit to him, too.

“I’m sorry, did you say _alien drugs?_ ” the kid asks with a laugh. “Say sike.”

“Wish I could. I heard it first-hand from my informant.”

“Your informant was lying to you.”

“He wasn’t; I’d know if he was. At the very least, he _believes_ they were alien drugs.”

“No way,” the kid says. “Do you _smell_ lies?”

Matt snorts. “It’s not smell.” He considers. “Okay, it’s partially smell. It’s about the heartbeat, whether they get nervous, what they almost say.”

“So more of that advanced senses stuff.”

“Pretty much. You can do it, too. You just have to pay attention. It helps when you understand all the sensory information that comprises a person: smell, sound, sight. That’s the easiest way to start off.”

“So I’m allowed to smell you, then?” the kid jokes, but Matt takes it seriously and shrugs.

“It’s good practice,” he says. “Just don’t let it overwhelm you. Maybe you could start practicing on people in your everyday life. It’ll help you to practice paying attention.”

The kid nods. “I’ll try it.” He toes the ground then says, “So, the alien drugs?”

“Right. We need to find where the group’s base of operations is.”

“What about one of those warehouses by the Hudson?” the kid suggests.

Matt nods. “Good guess; that’s where they were last time. I already checked them all the other day and didn’t find anything.”

“You went without me?” the kid asks, and his shoulders slump as though he’s pouting. 

“It was tedious work. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

“But that’s what we’re doing tonight,” the kid points out.

“And I’m letting you come along this time,” Matt adds. With a smirk, he says, “So it evens out. Coming?”

The kid huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, nothing better to do.”

“Homework?” 

“Already done. My college homework, that is. Because I’m in college.”

“Notice how your heart-rate picked up ever-so-slightly?” Matt asks with a smirk. 

“Did not,” the kid argues under his breath.

“Did so,” Matt argues back, if only to annoy him. He turns around, saying, “My informant gave me a name, but I won’t be able to research it until morning. Let’s start North and work our way down.”

He starts to step off the roof but stops when the kid says, “Wait, maybe we should split up.”

Matt’s shaking his head before the sentence is fully out of the kid’s mouth. “Definitely not. We do this together or not at all.”

The kid scoffs. “Every second this drug is on the street, more people are in danger. It would be quicker if we split up.”

“We have no idea what we’re up against,” Matt says, turning back around to face the kid. “For all we know, this could be a group of actual, murderous aliens. With tentacles. They could have tentacles, and knives.”

He’s getting ridiculous, but it’s the way to get through to this kid, so he continues, “Do you really want to face knife-wielding tentacle-aliens on your own?”

Laughing, the kid says, “What are you even talking about?”

Matt shrugs. “No idea. You coming?”

“…Yeah. I’m coming.”

\----------------

Later in the week, Foggy makes good on his promise to invite Karen and Matt over.

Matt picks up Karen on his way, and he spends the walk listening to her theorize over what she thinks Peter will be like. She’s thinking he’ll look like a mini-Foggy, with the same sense of humor. Matt’s fine with waiting until they get there.

Wine bottle under his arm, Matt passes his cane to that hand to knock on the door, hearing a younger voice joke through the door:

“We can’t let people know we sit.”

And Matt freezes. Because he knows that voice.

Foggy opens the door. “Hey, guys! Come on in.”

The kid turns around, saying, “Hey! I’m—” He startles in a breath, pinpointing the exact moment he recognizes Matt— “Peter,” he finishes lamely.

His and Matt’s heartbeats sync up, a racing duet contrasted by Karen and Foggy’s peaceful, unknowing ones. 

Spider-Man and Daredevil stand facing each other in Foggy’s living room.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are being so nice to this story :') I'm glad you're all enjoying it. I have a basic gist of where this is going from here, but if there's any details or moments you'd like to see, I'd be happy to hear and see what I can do. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! See you guys next chapter :D


	4. Secrets

“Hello,  _ Peter _ ,” Matt says to Spider-Man. Then after just a split-second’s hesitation: “I’m Matt.”

“And I’m Karen!” Karen jumps in, cheerful and unaware. She steps into the apartment, Matt trailing after her and Foggy shutting the door behind them.

“Ha, nice to meet you,” Peter says, a nervous quake to his voice.

Karen leads Matt to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “We’ve heard so much about you! It’s great to finally meet the man behind the legend.”

“Oh, really?” Peter says towards Foggy. “And I’m assuming none of it was cruel and embarrassing.”

“Right!” Foggy lies, and he doesn’t bother trying to cover it. “I would never.”

Matt sets the bottle of wine down on an empty space on the counter. 

“You’re blind?!” Peter whispers from across the room, quietly enough that nobody makes a comment about it.

Matt grimaces. He gives a minute nod.

“How?!”

“I’m excited to try this wine  _ later _ . I’ve heard good things,” Matt says.

Peter deciphers the code, it seems, his shoulders falling as the tension leaves his body. “Sounds good,” he says.

Foggy shoves him. “Say sike, you punk.”

“Yeah, sike,” Peter says with a smirk. “That was just a joke. I don’t drink.”

“Making me look like a terrible guardian.” Foggy shakes his head as he says it and walks into the kitchen, focusing on the pasta on the stove.

“When did you have your first drink?” Karen asks towards Foggy, popping the lid off her potato salad container and pulling a spoon out of her bag to stir it up.

Foggy pauses then says pointedly to Peter, “I was nineteen and in college.”

“I was sixteen,” Karen pipes up.

Matt remains quiet until they look at him.

“What about you, Matt?” Karen asks.

“Nine,” he shares reluctantly. 

Karen whistles.

“Hardcore,” Peter mumbles. 

“You mean just a sip, right?” Foggy clarifies.

To Peter, Matt says, “Not hardcore. Then, to the group, “It’s a long story.”

“Well, this life lesson didn’t go the way I planned,” Foggy says. He walks a couple of cabinets down and says, “Child, help me set the table.”

“Yes, parent-unit,” Peter responds.

Leaning back against the counter, Matt says, “If it helps, the next one was when I was twenty.”

“Twenty!” Foggy repeats joyously. He hands a stack of clanking plates to Peter, saying, “That’s the perfect age, if I do say so myself.”

“You’re encouraging me to drink underage,” Peter translates. “Aren’t you all lawyers?”

“Almost a lawyer,” Foggy corrects at the same time Karen says, “Paralegal.”

“Don’t drink underaged,” Matt adds. “Problem solved.”

“I’m not going to drink, guys!” Peter says with a laugh. “It was just a joke!”

Foggy rubs a hand in the kid’s hair, taking half of the stack of plates to help distribute them across the table. “Good. Keep it that way—don’t roll your eyes at me!”

His reprimand is light-hearted, so Matt lets himself chuckle at the situation. 

Foggy continues, “Now, before this goes any further downhill, let’s eat.”

They set up their plates and sit down, Matt next to Karen and Foggy and Peter across from them.

Matt takes a sip of his wine. “So, Peter,” he says. “You’re in high school, right?” Peter hums suspiciously. “Participate in any extracurriculars?”

“Yeah,” he says, poking some penne onto his fork. “I do academic decathlon.”

Matt nods encouragingly at the same time Karen says, “Ooh, what’s that?”

“It’s like a trivia club. We memorize facts then go up against other schools.”

Foggy wraps an arm around Peter, rubbing the kid’s hair with the other hand as he says, “Best in the country! He won at nationals this year.”

Peter brushes Foggy’s hand out of his hair, heating up as he says, “My  _ team _ won at nationals, not just me,” but Foggy waves a hand in the air.

“Same thing.”

Swallowing a bite of pasta, Karen wipes her mouth with a napkin as she asks, “What school do you go to?”

“I go to Midtown Tech.”

“My friend’s niece goes there! Do you know…”

So the kid’s a young genius and Spider-Man on the side. Peter and Karen talk about high school for a couple of minutes until Peter says:

“So, Matt, right? You asked me, but what are your hobbies?”

“You’re a little weirdo, you know that?” Foggy says, but Matt says:

“No, it’s only fair. Thank you for asking, but I’m afraid I don’t lead a very exciting life.” With a smirk, he adds, “I’m not trying to scare your uncle off, but us attorneys don’t usually have a good work-life balance.”

Peter hums, apparently having gotten his answer since he turns to ask Karen next.

Dinner is nice, if a little nerve-wracking. Matt spends most of it buried in thought, trying to rationalize the new conflict of interest that just popped up. 

As if being a blind attorney-vigilante wasn’t difficult enough already.

\----------------

The first thing Matt does when he gets home is pour a glass of rum. He sits at his kitchen table, swirling the ice in his glass in one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other.

When he inevitably meets the kid—Peter, he meets Peter—on Lee’s Hardware, he just stands there for a few moments.

Peter doesn’t stand from where he’s sitting. “So, it’s really you, huh?” he says, and he pats the ground beside him.

After a second, Matt goes to sit next to him.

“This doesn’t have to change anything,” Peter says at Matt’s continued silence. “We can just pretend it never happened.”

“You’re fifteen,” Matt says, stressing the word.

“You already knew that,” Peter points out, and Matt feels sick.

It’s one thing to know it and another entirely to  _ know _ it.

“You have a whole life ahead of you.”

“Are you gonna tell?”

“This isn’t how you want to go out. Think about your uncle—“

“Matt. Are you gonna tell?”

“Don’t say my name in the mask.” Matt lets out a breath. “I don’t know.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Peter says, and his heart is beating fast with nerves.

Matt nods his head once, though not necessarily in agreement. “We’ll talk about it later,” he says finally. “We have work to do.”

They’ve begun working through Quinn’s list of names, but it’s no small task.

“If we split up, it’ll be so much faster,” Peter reminds him.

Matt only grunts in response. 

They plan a route around Hell’s Kitchen based on the many possibilities for a home base Matt’s research brought up. On the bright side, they narrow it down; on the realist side, they come up with squat.

“Tell me what you notice about him,” Matt whispers urgently. Hours have passed, and they’ve interrupted their search to stop a standard mugging.

“What are you waiting for? We have to stop it!” Peter whispers back.

The lady is handing over her purse as they speak, not in any imminent danger.

“Answer.”

“A knife,” Peter says after a brief hesitation. “He’s holding a knife, and he has another one in his jacket pocket.”

“And?”

“And he smells like…cocaine?”

“Good. Take this one.”

The kid’s intake of breath shows surprise. “Really?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer before he drops into the alleyway.

“Hey, Mr. Mugger!” he says. “Don’t you know that’s illegal?”

Matt’s face-palms.

The fight is quick, Peter safely disarming then webbing up the criminal without much run-around. 

“Nice work,” Matt tells him when he returns to the rooftop after comforting the victim. “Time to turn in.”

“Are you turning in, too? Because if you’re not finished looking, then I’m not, either.”

“Who’s to say I’m staying out?”

It’s a flimsy attempt at deflection, and one that Peter sees through.

“You’re the one who taught me to notice lies,  _ Daredevil _ . You said it yourself: we do this together or not at all.”

Shaking his head, Matt says, “You have school tomorrow.”

“And you have work, whatchu mean?”

His breath comes out a sigh. “I can handle it on my own.”

Peter crosses his arms. “So can I.”

“You don’t know that. You have no idea what we could be up against.”

“Neither do you!” Raising his voice, Peter continues, “You know, I appreciate the help you’ve given me, but I think I’m done. I’m not just some kid you can boss around!”

“You are a kid.”

“No.” Voice hard, Peter says, “I haven’t been a kid since I watched my family die in front of me, knowing that if I’d done something, I could’ve saved them.”

Matt opens his mouth, but Peter finishes:

“So. I’m done.”

He flips a web onto a building across the street.

“Kid—” Matt starts.

“Goodbye, Matt.”

Peter swings away.

Matt sits on the edge of the building, holding his head in his hands for what must be minutes.

Foggy works tonight. It’s entirely too tempting, and Matt doesn’t want to resist.

He walks through the ding-donging door, raising a hand when Foggy greets him with mild surprise.

“It’s been a while,” Foggy says, walking across the room to the coffee pot. “Was starting to worry I scared you off with my awesome debate skills.”

Matt snorts, but his heart’s not in it. He takes his seat on the counter and just sits there for a few seconds.

“Doing okay? You seem stressed,” Foggy says, and though he doesn’t sound overly worried, his heart is racing fast. It makes Matt wonder for a moment if he has blood on the suit or something.

“You could say that.”

Foggy hums. When Matt doesn’t elaborate, he says, “What’s up? Criminals being extra mean tonight?”

Matt breathes out, sounding more like a sigh than a laugh. He debates how much he should let on. Finally, he settles with: “Secret identity issues.”

“Mmm. Somebody find out your identity?”

“Not quite.” Matt crosses his ankles and rests his hands behind him. “Wanna play hypotheticals?”

Letting out a baffled laugh, Foggy repeats, “Hypotheticals?”

“Sure.”

“No idea what that means, but why not? Let’s do it.”

“Okay.” 

Having set up the coffee, Foggy moves to lean against his counter. 

“If you had a secret identity,” Matt starts, “how would you decide when it’s time to tell somebody about it?”

Foggy hums as he presumably thinks it over. Finally, he says, “I don’t keep secrets.”

“It’s not safe for me to just tell anybody,” Matt reminds him.

“Well, I don’t mean Joe from across the street,” Foggy says, voice exasperated. “Here, how about this: if you call them a friend, you tell them about what you do.”

“It’s safer for them if they don’t know, though.”

“Explain that logic,” Foggy says, and he raises up a hand, palm up, as he says it. “Because it’s not clicking for me.”

“I have a lot of enemies. If somebody finds out they know me, it will put them in danger.”

“Okay, but how does them knowing make it more dangerous? I doubt they’ll go screaming it to the world,” Foggy points out. “And, no offense, but if they know you, they’re in danger either way.”

Matt sputters.

Foggy finishes, “So now you’re just keeping secrets for no reason.”

Matt’s mouth works for a moment before he closes it. 

“Now, I’m not trying to say you shouldn’t have friends,” Foggy says before Matt can think of something to respond with. “You know what they say: ’Man cannot live off of crime-fighting alone’—”

“I don’t think that’s what the Bible said.”

Foggy waves a hand, the gesture sending air Matt’s way. “Something like that. Point is: if they’re really your friends, then why are you keeping something this big from them?”

Matt lets out a breath. He rolls the question around in his head for a few seconds.

_ ”You’re making excuses for yourself,”  _ he remembers Claire saying. 

Following its beeping, Foggy turns off the coffee maker, setting up their cups for what has become their typical drinks. 

“Next one,” Matt says, voice firmer than he feels. “What would you do if you had an ethical dilemma related to vigilantism?”

“Okay, Captain Vague,” Foggy says as he crosses the room. He puts Matt’s coffee down beside him then walks around the counter to take a seat on his stool, saying, “I’m gonna need more detail than that. What kind of ethical dilemma?”

Matt sighs. “I found out the identity of another vigilante.”

Foggy nods slowly. 

“He’s a minor.”

Foggy pulls in a quick breath. “Oh.”

Matt nods. 

“Well, that is a dilemma, huh? How did you find out?”

Not willing to risk anything until he knows for sure whether he’s going to tell or not, Matt waves a hand, picking up his coffee with the other. “Irrelevant.”

“Okay. Well, here’s another question: how young of a minor? Because you know I don’t necessarily agree with vigilantism—” Matt nods— “but I think there’s a big difference between a thirteen year-old and a seventeen year-old doing this. You know?”

“Agreed.” Matt says. Then: “He’s young. Younger than seventeen.”

“Oof,” Foggy says with heart. “Did I ever tell you I have a nephew?”

“It never came up,” Matt says, taking a casual sip of his coffee.

“Right,” Foggy says, slowly, as though he’s rolling his eyes with it. “Well, I’m his guardian, so I think I can offer a parental perspective on this one.”

“Go on.”

Foggy seems to consider for a moment. “I don’t know if you ever came across this in your studies, but a person’s brain doesn’t stop developing until they’re well into their twenties.” 

Matt nods. 

“Teenagers can’t always make the best decisions for themselves; that’s why they have parents to look out for them. Here’s a hypothetical for you: how would you feel if your son were a vigilante?”

“I discourage anybody from doing what I do.”

“Right.” Foggy’s hair brushes his shirt as he nods. “You’re an adult and can make whatever decisions you want. Teenagers can’t.”

“I agree with you,” Matt says.

“But?”

Sighing, he sets his coffee to the side and says, “This is a bridge I can’t burn. He’s serious about this, and he’ll find a way to do it. At least if I keep his secret, I can keep an eye on him.”

“So you know him.”

Matt nods. “I’ve been training him, giving him the skills he needs to do this safely.”

“You’re encouraging the illegal and dangerous activities of a minor.” Foggy’s voice is dry as he says it.

Matt glares at him—as well as he can, anyway. “I’m keeping him alive.”

“Maybe,” Foggy says, his free hand raised up in a shrug. 

“You don’t agree with me.”

“It’s a tricky situation, I’ll give you that.”

They sit in quiet for a moment. Matt picks his cup back up and drinks it quickly, ignoring the burn.

“Last one,” Matt says after he swallows. “What would you do if you found out somebody you know is a vigilante?”

“I think it’s my turn,” Foggy says. “What would you say if I said I already know,  _ Matt _ ?”

Matt’s mouth falls open. He slams his nearly-empty cup down, not caring as a couple of drops of coffee spill onto the counter. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice feint.

Foggy breathes a laugh. “Come on. How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Matt denies. 

“Right, just foolish enough to not pick up on the fact that the guy I spend half of my time with is the same one who drinks coffee with me every other week.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Matt repeats, mind stuck on that. 

“Happy to hear it.”

“How… How long have you known?” he finds himself asking. 

Foggy shrugs. “I had my suspicions, but I only realized for sure tonight.”

“Karen?”

Humming, Foggy says, “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Matt nods slowly. 

“Don’t look so shocked,” Foggy says, pushing Matt’s shoulder gently. “You were bound to tell me at some point.”

“Right.” Honestly, Matt’s not sure if that’s true, but he won’t dig himself deeper into the hole than he already is. Though, there’s one important piece of information that he’s missing. “So, you know that I’m a vigilante,” he says, subtly emphasizing the word, “I’m”. “What else do you know?”

“Honestly, I still don’t exactly get how you do what you do. You said super-hearing, so…echolocation?”

“More or less,” Matt concedes. He pauses, allowing Foggy the chance to admit to anything else he’s figured out, but he doesn’t say anything. “Well, I’m glad you know.”

Foggy snorts. “Are you?”

Matt chuckles darkly. “Believe it or not, I don’t actually enjoy lying to my friends.” His heart twists as he says it. 

Now is his chance to tell Foggy about Peter.

He lets it pass him by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's looking like there will be one more chapter than anticipated. I just didn't know how to segway into the next topic without it sounding weird, so this was the solution. Thanks again for sticking with me, guys. I hope it's lived up to your expectations.


	5. Hourglass

_ ”You’re making excuses for yourself.” _

Matt doesn’t go home until the sun’s already rising. He spends the time searching—for a hint of the drugs or for Peter, he’s not sure, but it doesn’t matter because he comes up with nothing anyways.

When he gets to work, he perks up at the unexpected smell of freshly brewed coffee that greets him.

“Hey!” Foggy says from his office.

“You’re here early,” Matt notes.

Foggy usually is very prompt, though it wavers on the couple of nights that he still works at the deli, when he tries to squeeze as much sleep out of the night as he can.

“I figured we could both use the extra kick today. Besides, I decided to take the kiddo out for breakfast this morning. Can you believe it? He’s barely out of school for the summer and his sleep schedule’s already shot. Coffee’s ready, if you want some.”

“That would be great, thanks,” Matt says with a forced laugh. 

He goes to set up his computer in his office, taking his time plugging in the braille display and his headphones, then straightening out the odds and ends on his desktop. Anything to bring his frazzled thoughts together and block out the vigilante elephant Foggy doesn’t realize is in the room.

Eventually, he finds his professionalism and, scolding himself for being ridiculous, stops hiding in the office to share a coffee with his intern and catch up on how his cases are coming.

Because Foggy is his intern before anything else.

“Friendships are a distraction,” he hears Stick say.

He greets Karen as she walks through the door and lets her brief him on his plans for the day and upcoming deadlines. He stays to catch up as she prepares her coffee.

Then he escapes to his office.

It’s not that he doesn’t want her to know, he reminds himself. 

_ She’s in no more danger if she knows who you are. _

He can admit that, Claire and Foggy, both of them have a point. Maybe it’s not so much a matter of safety.

He drains his cup and clanks it on the table. He wants another. 

He opens up his browser instead. 

_ How long have you known her? _

_ A little over a year. _

Karen laughs from across their tiny firm, joking with Foggy as she sips her coffee. 

_ I won’t tell if you won’t. _

Suddenly, he questions all of the conversations he’s tuned out throughout the workday the past few weeks. Has Foggy told her? Has she figured it out on her own just like he did?

Matt shudders out a breath. Certainly not.

Because she’s still here, isn’t she? His assistant. Perhaps his one true friend.

He remembers the firm in those months before her, cold and empty and just him. His breaths echoed back to him those days, the only sound in his life. 

Before Karen, there was Stick, and before Stick, there was his father. But those years inbetween? Matt. Just Matt. 

_ You’re making excuses for yourself. _

And so what if he is? 

Foggy’s snorting laughter and Karen’s hand-hidden giggle float through the door and bounce around his office like pinballs. 

Matt’s been alone his whole life. And friendships may be distractions, but he wants them, damn it! This newfound warmth in his life… Now that he’s felt it, how can he go back to those days without it?

Sure, he can sleep without a pillow and blanket, but why would he want to?

So he can leave his office right now and lay it out, all cards on the table. He can tell Karen about himself; he can tell Foggy about Peter. 

Or he can find the third option, the hidden possibility in this equation that could let Matt have his cake and eat it, too.

He just needs more time.

If only he had any to spare.

By the time the sun falls, Matt’s running on a couple hours of nap from after work, and he knows immediately that the clock’s ticking.

There’s only a couple handfuls of locations left to try, and Matt has no doubt that Peter’s running through his memory of the list on his own.

_ This’ll go so much faster if we split up. _

He catches sound of him, but only for a split second. God, that kid’ll be the death of him. Matt’s the one who inadvertently taught him how to avoid being detected.

The clock ticks on.

Matt’s heart beats faster.

_ You have no idea what we could be up against. _

He supposes he only hears it because there’s always a small part of him focused on his friends in the background.

“Open the damn register!”

Matt freezes where he was set to leap, and he barely manages to keep himself from becoming a mess of meat on the ground down below.

“Welcome back!” Foggy responds. “Sure thing, just a sec—”

“Fucking now!”

Matt’s turning to the sound out of habit and goes so far as taking a step towards it when he remembers the kid.

His breath stops. 

_ Teenagers can’t always make the best decisions for themselves. _

He wavers, head turning back towards the next location. The list has narrowed dramatically. Peter could find the right one any moment. He might have already. 

Foggy’s in danger right now. 

_ That’s why they have parents to look out for them. _

It’s an impossible choice, but he picks right.

He picks Peter.

He finds the hide-out. The skunky smell of weed masks the sweetness of their mystery drug, but Matt finds it, and he finds the five stranger heartbeats and—

A gunshot rings out, and Matt flinches at the same moment he feels his stomach drop.

He chose wrong.

————————

“Daredevil!”

He’s running as fast as his legs can move.

“Don’t move; it’s okay—Daredevil!”

The door doesn’t just shatter; it rips from one of its hinges entirely.

_ My advice is wasted on you. _

The smell of blood is so strong. 

His stomach turns. He lands on his knees, sliding across the floor to—

“Kid,” he breathes.

“Daredevil, he was shot,” Foggy says. “Left shoulder.”

“I know.”

As Matt’s hands smash onto the wound, Peter cries out. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he says, and it’s the first thing he’s said since he’s been shot besides, “no hospitals.”

“I know,” Matt says to Peter. Then he barks to Foggy, “Cell phone, I need you to call somebody.”

Foggy snatches his cell phone from the counter, and his voice shakes as he says, “Yeah, nine-one-one. This kid’s Peter’s age.”

“No,” Matt and Peter say at the same time. 

Matt continues, “My nurse—kid, look alive.” He rattles off Claire’s number. 

“It hurts,” Peter wheezes. “Am I gonna die?”

Matt’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “I’ve got you. You’ll be fine.”

He urges Peter to sit up as Foggy talks to Claire.

“How can I help?” Foggy asks once he’s hung up the phone. His heart is racing.

“I’ve got this,” Matt says, the kid’s weight on one shoulder.

“Don’t tell him,” Peter slurs, voice shaking.

Matt hushes him, stumbling them to the door. 

“No,” Foggy says behind them. “It’s not him.”

Shit.

“Matt, tell me.”

Matt pauses in the doorway.

“Noooo,” Peter mumbles beside his ear.

Matt tells Foggy Claire’s address. “Meet us there.”

“No,” Foggy breathes, practically sobs, but there’s no time. 

There’s no time.

“Meet us there,” Matt repeats. Then he pulls Peter out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took a little bit. I was uninspired and then I broke my elbow--LOL. Thankfully, I can still type, though I wish I could pull my hair back :/ Thanks for hanging in there, guys! The next chapter should be longer and much more interesting :D


	6. Flashback

“Matt Murdock, I could kill you,” Claire hisses at him.

It’s been an exhausting night for all of them. Matt just nods.

“What the hell were you thinking, bringing a kid to me, bringing a kid into your mess?”

“I know, Claire. I know.”

“Do you?”

Her heart is racing. His is, too.

He nods again.

She seems to deflate, muscles untensing. Her hair brushes her shirt, and her voice is pointing the other direction when she says, “You really messed up this time, huh?” She’s looking at Foggy, then.

Foggy, who hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor beside the couch.

“Yeah. I did.”

He thinks she nods. She brushes a hand through her hair. 

“Fix it,” she says. She softens a bit as she continues, “I know you will.”

Matt doesn’t say anything.

Claire sighs, hand coming out to squeeze his shoulder. “Come around more often. I’ve missed you.”

His hand rests overtop hers. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I know.” She pauses for a moment, releasing her hand and saying, “I’m going to sleep before work later. Wake me if you need anything.”

Matt thanks her. It’s not enough, but it’s all he can give her at the moment. He walks back into the living room, hovering beside Foggy. 

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

Foggy turns his head, facing Matt. “No, thanks,” he says, voice flat.

Matt nods, hovering for a second before settling on the armchair at the opposite end of the couch. He’s in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, clothes that Claire’s let him keep in her dresser.

The kid’s wearing Matt’s spare clothes, too.

They sit in silence for what has to be a couple of minutes, Matt using the time to thank God for the beating hearts in front of him.

“Everything makes so much more sense now,” Foggy says suddenly.

Matt turns his head towards him.

Foggy continues, “I knew something was going on. I  _ knew _ —but I never could have imagined… How long?”

Matt swallows. “About six months. That’s when I first noticed him.”

He hears Foggy’s nod.

“Sounds about right. It’s been going on for longer than that, though; I thought it was just puberty, but he’s been off for years…” He trails off into silence. “How?” he asks after a moment. “How does he do it?”

Matt pulls in a breath.

Foggy continues, “Is he like you? How did this happen? I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

_ Six months prior. _

It was a crummy night. It’s always a crummy night in Hell’s Kitchen—but this night was worse than others: cold and slushy, the rooftops just slick enough to be a bother, and Matt was up to his ankles in crime. 

And slush. Matt hates slush.

“It’s the worst,” he was thinking to himself. “Snow on it’s own: fine, whatever. Rain on it’s own: loud, annoying, but, again, fine. But when you mix the two—really puts the ‘hell’ in ‘Hell’s Kitchen.’”

He was in the middle of laughing at his own joke when he sensed something…unusual.

“Woo-hoo!”

Not the yelling; that was pretty standard. No, the weird thing was that it was on the same level as him, and it was getting closer.

Much closer.

And fast.

“What the—”

“Oh, shit!”

Matt turned around just in time to get knocked off his feet, landing backwards—thankfully back onto the roof.

He and the flying man in his lap skid across the roof, crashing into the lip on the other end.

As bizarre as the situation was, Matt didn’t let it faze him; his training took over, and he flipped them over, flyer on his back on the ground and Matt swinging to his feet.

“Whoa—bro, careful!”

For the record: Matt denies all charges. Whatever the kid tells you, it’s not true: his feet remained firmly planted on the ground, and his arms did not pinwheel.

He looked very menacing as he said: “Who—shit, shit!—who are you?”

The flyer, who Matt would later know as Peter Parker, flipped to his feet with ease, saying after a moment of hesitation: “Uh—Spider-Man! I’m Spider-Man.”

Matt just stood there for a moment.

He’ll admit that he lost his composure completely. “What?” he asked, baffled.

The flyer—5’5; male; racing, healthy heart-beat; axe deodorant; lasagna—shifted. “Spider-Man.” His voice was firm and confident when he said it this time. Then his voice cracked as he said, “I’m a superhero!”

Maybe it was his pure confusion. Maybe it was the hilarity of the situation. 

Matt laughed in his face. “How fucking old are you?”

The kid heated up, probably embarrassed, as he stuttered, “Wh—h—I’m twenty-five!”

That one earned another laugh.

“Thirteen,” Matt corrected.

“Fine. Twenty-one.”

“Fourteen.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

The kid’s heart-rate spiked. “I’m twenty,” he insisted.

“So, fifteen,” Matt surmised. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Uh, Derek.”

Matt let silence consume them for a moment. Making the appropriate air quotes, he says, “I mean your ‘superhero’ name.”

“Oh.” His face heated up again. “Spider-Man!”

While forming the quip about the name choice, Matt heard the kid continue:

“It’s based on the spider that bit me and gave me my powers.”

“A spider gave you the ability to fly?”

The kid laughed. “No. That’s my web-shooters. See! I made them myself. Cool, huh?”

After pretending to look at the kid’s outstretched arms, Matt said, honestly, “Impressive.”

“Right?” The kid literally bounced over to Matt. “They work by pressing the button here. Holding the button shoots out the web, and it detaches when I release. I just have to grab it super quick.”

So the kid has faster reflexes than normal.

Matt said, “You shouldn’t be telling people this.”

“Well, duh,” the kid said. “But you’re a good guy. Really cool to meet you, by the way! And if we’re going to be working together…”

“We will not be working together.”

“Ouch. But okay, I get it. We’ll just try to stay out of each other’s way. But if you ever need a team-up…”

“No. You quit tonight.”

The kid laughed. Then, after a second, he said, “Wait, you’re being serious? Dude, what? You’re not in charge of me.”

Matt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “This is my neighborhood,” he said, instead.

Scoffing, the kid said, “I live here, too.”

_ “I was here first,” _ is what Matt did not say.

“Let’s keep it that way,” he said, instead. “This life isn’t for you, kid.”

“How would you know? I haven’t even been given a shot, yet!”

“You don’t want to be like me.”

“I don’t want to be like you. I want to be like me!”

The kid started to back away. He continued, voice still cheerful, “I’ll see you around!”

And before Matt could do anything the kid flew—sorry, swung—away.

————————

“I’m sorry,” Foggy interrupts, “rewind. You said he got his powers from a spider-bite?”

Matt shrugs. “That’s what he told me. Something about a class field trip.” Matt only learned the last part later on.

Foggy shakes his head. “Shouldn’t be possible,” he mutters under his breath.

“Turns out a lot more is possible than the world knows.”

Still shaking his head, Foggy says, looking towards Peter, “I’m suing whoever did this to him.”

Matt debates whether he should list all of the problems with that. He’s about to let it go; then he remembers Foggy speaking out against vigilante justice in front of the local vigilante himself.

“Not the best idea,” Matt says.

Foggy’s head turns to look at him.

Matt continues, “I… I didn’t know anybody else like me, growing up. I imagine it must be difficult to wrap your head around, but this is who he is now, and who he’ll probably always be—not Spider-Man, but an enhanced individual.” Matt bites the inside of his cheek, thinking of his own childhood as he says, “He shouldn’t have to feel like a mistake.”

Foggy’s quiet for a few moments. Then he nods, slowly. “Probably best not to shout it to the world,” he agrees.

Matt lets himself smile. “Yeah. Probably not.” The smile fades as silence consumes them yet again. “I really did try to discourage him from all of this.”

“You did a shit job.”

“Yeah. I suppose I did.”

_ Five months prior. _

“Oh, come on!”

Matt knocked out the would-be mugger, wicked grin wider than usual on his face. This had gotten too good.

“I was handling it!”

Matt turned around to face him after lowering the KO-ed perp to the ground. “You’re welcome,” he said, just to rub salt in the wound. His grin widened even further when the kid actually growled.

It was becoming a sort of game for Matt, who would keep an ear out to ensure he always made it to the scene of a crime before Spider-Kid. Tonight was an exception, though he had to admit the thrill of literally dropping down into the alley and stealing the kid’s win was even better than he anticipated.

The victim in the alley looked between them two, quietly watching, and probably judging, the admittedly-hilarious spectacle.

“I’m not thanking you for that. You know, you can’t do this forever!”

Matt shrugged. “Watch me,” he said, although the kid had a point: as rewarding as it was to steal his wins (and keep him safe in the process), it was already getting exhausting. 

It all came to a head:

_ Three months prior. _

He was late. 

Hoofing it across rooftops, that was all Matt could think: that he was certainly, assuredly, definitely late.

For some wacky reason, crime decided not to organize itself conveniently; Matt was responding to a deli robbery when he heard a drug deal going wrong in the southern end of the neighborhood. 

And, of course, the kid descended on it immediately.

Jesus, did the kid even know how to fight at all? As Matt locked onto the scene, it became apparent that he hadn’t been in a fight ever. In his entire life. 

“Take that!” Crack. “Ow!”

Matt’s eyes shut for a moment. That was the kid’s thumb breaking.

By the time Matt got there, the kid had laid out the dealer, the buyer having run a solid half-minute before, and was holding his hand close to his chest.

Matt dropped in.

“Ha!” the kid said immediately, straightening up.

“Whatcha got there?” Matt asked, casually.

“Drug dealer,” the kid said, proudly.

It took everything in Matt not to allow a smile at that. What can he say? As obnoxious as he was, the kid could be cute, sometimes. 

“I meant your hand.”

The kid leaned against the brick wall of the apartment building beside him, good hand propping him up. “Got a manicure. Nice, huh?”

Interestingly enough, the kid did have a manicure.

(“It was a ‘treat ourselves’-day,” Foggy explains.)

“Come here.”

The kid hesitantly stood up straight, clearly suspicious, though trusting enough to walk over. 

Matt held out a hand. “I’ll straighten it out for you,” he offered.

After a quiet moment, the kid set his hand onto Matt’s, hissing when Matt touched his thumb.

“This will hurt for a couple of seconds and then it’ll be over,” Matt warned. “But we need to set it so it’ll heal properly.”

The drug dealer stirred, so if the kid made a non-verbal response, Matt missed it. He took the silence as a go-ahead and counted down from three before resetting the break.

“Ow, ow—oh, that’s better. Thanks, man.”

Matt nodded. “Try to stay off it for a couple weeks.”

He was about to celebrate the kid’s mandatory break when he said:

“Nah, I heal fast. It’ll probably be fine by morning, to be honest.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. That’s fair: the kid gets super-healing while Matt gets sensory overloads.

Then he realized he was envious of a teenager’s superpowers and shut that line of thought down.

“Anyway, thanks again,” the kid said, genuinely. “I should probably…” He started grabbing onto the wall to climb up—and wasn’t that a shock the first time; a story for another day—but Matt said:

“Wait. Your thumb needs to go on the outside. When you punch.”

The kid blinked at him for a couple of seconds. 

If Matt were to pick one moment where it started to go downhill, it would be there: that one, solitary tip would become two, then three, then a hundred as weeks then months blew by.

Slowly but surely, training the kid became a regular part of his night. And though he tried to scare him away, the kid stuck around like bed bugs.

————————

“Don’t call my kid a bed bug,” Foggy objects, though his voice is faint.

“Noted.”

They sit in silence for some time. 

“Thanks for explaining,” Foggy says, finally, words short.

“You’re not happy about it.”

“Oh, I’m pissed.”

Matt nods.

Foggy continues, “And I’m going to need a week or two off to deal with this.”

“Granted.”

“Thanks.” Foggy sounds anything but grateful. Matt can’t blame him.

Foggy’s running his hand through Peter’s hair. 

“Do you want me to go?” Matt asks.

Foggy’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says, finally. “Please do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so patient with me. I really appreciate it. I decided to cut the last chapter in half; I thought the pacing would work a bit better this way. So there is one more chapter after this, which I'll hopefully have up within a month! I'm working on a story for the Daredevil/Defenders exchange, which takes priority, but I am still here! Hope you all enjoyed!


	7. The Power of Love

He closes the door, and the click echoes throughout the empty rooms. Foggy and Matt both left their office doors open, so Matt can feel the air currents circling into them, out to Karen’s reception desk, and bouncing off the door.

Matt steps further into their office-space, footsteps creaking the floorboards and joining the echoing click.

The air currents push past his nose, bringing smells of Karen’s perfume and deodorant, of Foggy’s cologne and laundry detergent. And something new: plastic and metal, something fresh-out-the-box.

He leaves his cane by the door and walks into what has become not the coffee-, copy-, and break-room, but Foggy’s office. He approaches the coffee-maker like any other morning, except today there is no audience, no laughter or snark. Just Matt, and Karen’s approaching footsteps.

She puts her key in before she realizes the door is unlocked. Then, she enters, calling out a “good morning” that bounces off the walls like a child’s ball.

“Good morning, Karen,” Matt greets as he investigates the new machine beside the coffee pot.

She clicks further into the office, pulling the door shut behind her, and as she walks to her desk to drop her bag down, she says, “I see you’ve found our new addition. Meet Drip. He’s an espresso maker. Foggy and I picked him out.”

Drip. Matt imagines Karen and Foggy wandering around the aisles, arguing over which machine is the best one then debating name choices, Foggy getting somewhat overenthusiastic in his quest to practice debate while Karen nobly holds her own through pure will and spunk.

And all for a gift for Matt. Sure, it would get equal use by all of them, but even Matt is not quite delusional enough to insist that this was meant to be anything less than a display of camaraderie. Of friendship.

“Make sure you refund yourselves from the firm account.”

She tsks, walking from her desk to Foggy’s office, and Matt can imagine the smile she wears as she says, “Oh, please. Already on it. Wink!”

He chuckles, a half-hearted staccato of breath through his mouth.

There’s silence between them for a moment. Matt plays with the name plate on Foggy’s desk—a novelty gag gift Karen picked up. It says, “Chief Chaos Coordinator,” and between Matt’s shenanigans and the trouble he’s sure Karen is stirring up, Matt thinks it fits.

Karen says, “So, Foggy texted me.”

It’s a lead-in. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” She walks over, joining Matt. “Let me show you how this works.”

He leans back against Foggy’s desk to make space while Karen steps into the room and starts gesturing around the espresso machine.

“It’s a lot like a Keurig,” she says. “You fill the tank in the back with water—we did that last night—then lift the top off from the front. Pop in a cup—those are to the right of it—then close it again.” She performs the motions as she does it, clicking in a button as she finishes, “Voila! The start button’s right below where you lift it to open it. Cool?”

“Thanks.”

The machine whirs to life beside them, clicking as it heats up then starts pouring out the espresso.

“Is Foggy okay?” Karen asks. “He wouldn’t tell me anything. Just that it’s a personal matter and it’s…”

“Complicated.”

“Yeah.”

Matt sighs. Karen, one of his only friends.

“I fucked it up,” he tells her, face turned away. “I…” He clenches his jaw, teeth clicking together. “I don’t know if I can fix it.”

She breathes in as though she’s going to say something then rethinks it. She starts again, “I’m sorry. I know how awful that feels.”

“It’s my own fault.”

And it is. In every conceivable way. Because this is what Matt does, what he’s always done.

Stick’s training assured him that these soft things in life keep him from reaching his full potential. They make him weak.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe someday, this will come back to bit him in the worst way.

But… Damn it. He can’t keep going like this. He can’t keep playing footsie with the idea of friendship while keeping the door shut halfway.

He needs to let them go. He’s Matt Murdock, and he always leaves destruction in his wake. Fire follows his feet; he’s a burning flame in the clothes of a man.

And the worst part? He wants to burn.

Because as much as friendships make him weak, they also make him strong. He doesn’t know when it happened, but these people in his life have become his motivation.

The five of them, they make a team Matt can’t make himself let go of. He’s tried, oh, he’s tried.

But Karen and her healing soul pull him back in.

Claire tugs him back from the devil when he’s making a mistake.

Foggy’s jokes center his civilian life, blanketing his world in soft, yellow joy.

And Peter…the kid… He reminds Matt of who he has to be, inside and outside the mask.

This community he’s built, these people he’s come to love… They’ve become his strength. They’ve become his church.

He can’t half-ass this anymore. In this moment, it’s all or nothing. All cards on the table or walking away from the game.

And he knows what he should do.

But he does the opposite.

“Karen… There’s something I should tell you.”

The espresso machine squeals as it squeezes out the rest of the espresso.

“Anything,” she says, voice calm but heart speeding up. She wrings her hands as Matt takes a breath.

“There’s something I’ve been keeping from you for a long time. And I understand if you feel like you need to leave because of it, or if you…” He shakes his head. His lips purse together for a moment before he says, “I’m Daredevil. I have heightened senses and I use them to act as a vigilante.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, and it’s long enough for Matt to continue:

“I know how it sounds, but I—I’m not lying to you anymore.”

“I don’t think you’re lying,” she cuts in. “I believe you, Matt. I…” She lets out a breath. “I already knew. Or at least, I suspected.”

“I’m not very great with lying, huh?” he asks. His smile is small and fake.

“What do you mean? You’re a great lawyer. Just kidding.” He huffs a laugh. “I thought something was up for a while, but I didn’t know what it was until Foggy and I got to talking. Is that… Is that why Foggy’s not here?”

“It’s… It’s complicated. It involves Daredevil, yes.”

She hums. And she must want to know more, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she says, “Okay. So, how are we going to fix things?”

“We? No, this is my mess.”

“I’m rolling my eyes. Matt, we’re a team. I want to help.”

He has to blink a few times, feeling his throat grow thick. “You know you mean everything to me, right?” he asks her.

“Well, duh,” she says, tone light, and he imagines her smiling with it. “How would this place get along without me?”

“It wouldn’t,” Matt agrees. _And neither would I._

His final words go unspoken, but he thinks she hears them anyway. She snags the cup of espresso and holds it out, narrating where it is, and he accepts it, the cup hot against his palms.

“Thank you,” he says, and he isn’t sure what he’s thanking her for.

“We have each other’s backs,” she says. “That’s why I’m reminding you you have an appointment in an hour.”

He smiles and takes a sip.

It tastes like hope.

————————

The days pass with radio silence from Foggy. Matt isn’t sure how to reach out, so he doesn’t, though he types and re-types a hundred text messages that never get sent.

He goes out at night and tries to find the new base of their mystery drug. He’s back at first-base, for more than just the investigation, and it’s beyond anxiety-inducing.

It’s during a mostly quiet patrol later that week that he feels his phone vibrating with a call. It’s his regular phone, so he answers with a gruff, “Hello?”

“Matt.”

Matt’s heart skips a beat. Foggy.

“It’s Peter,” Foggy continues. “I think he went out again.”

He’s off like a bullet before the call’s even ended, pushing away from the wall and hurdling up the fire escape across from him. He extends his senses outwards, reaching for a trace of the kid.

Then, he follows his gut West, eventually making out the kid at—of course—Lee’s Hardware.

So, the kid isn’t hiding; Peter wants to be found.

The kid sits up when Matt’s a block away. Still, he waits to speak until Matt’s landed on the rooftop behind him.

“Hey, D,” he says. “Long time to see—er.”

Matt closes his mouth from how he was about to respond. He can’t help the smile, the relief, pulling at his lips as he says, walking across the rooftop to stand beside him, “It’s okay to mention sight around me.”

With a rustle—a nod?—the kid says, “Okay. Long time no see.”

“It has been,” Matt agrees. He listens to the city for a moment before kicking a foot around the ground beside Peter, sitting on the cleared spot after. “How’s the shoulder?”

“It’s good!” The kid throws his arm around to prove it. “Like I said, I heal fast.” He settles down, letting out a sigh. “I bet you’re happy now. Looks like you won.”

“There are no winners in this life,” Matt says. He turns his head slightly towards the kid to show him his smirk as he continues, “Just those who lose less.”

The kid huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess…”

Silence sits around them for a moment.

“Your uncle called me,” Matt says. “He’s worried about you.”

Peter groans. “Of course he found out. You know, I haven’t had more than an hour to myself, since that night.”

“He’s worried about you.”

“He shouldn’t be. I can handle myself.”

Matt hums.

The kid defends, “Come on. You get hurt sometimes, too.”

“I never said I don’t.”

“Then you get it.”

“I do. That doesn’t mean I don’t also agree with Foggy on this one.” He turns his head away as he admits, “I was worried about you.”

“Aw, Double-D, you’re such a softie. You didn’t have to worry. I had it covered… You know, mostly.”

Matt lets out a slow breath, trying to push the memories of that night out of his head. His stomach twists as he remember it.

“This life… It’s not for a kid.”

“I don’t think I’ve been a kid for a while,” Peter says.

“I know.”

They sit in quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter says. He grips his head with one hand, voice growing hoarse as he continues, “Uncle…my uncle: he won’t even listen to me. He says he’s not, but I think he’s so mad.”

“He’s scared. Look… I know life hasn’t been easy for you. I get it. I’ve been there. But you’re—god, you’re so young.”

Peter draws in a breath. “That’s—”

Matt quickens to continue, “You don’t understand—”

“This is such bullshit. You’re—”

“Kid, sit down—”

“You don’t get it—”

“Kid. I’m on your side.”

Peter grows quiet, Matt only hearing his heart racing. He doesn’t even take a breath in that moment.

“I’m on your side,” Matt repeats. Then, he pats the space on the ground beside him.

Peter sits.

“You ever taken a Psychology class?” Matt asks.

Sighing, Peter says, sounding bored, “You’re going to start waxing on about decision-making and the frontal lobe, aren’t you?”

Matt smiles.

Peter sighs again. “Okay. I get what you’re saying, but also? Kinda dumb, and here’s why: you’re making the same decision as me.”

“Correct. But I’m also twenty years older than you. I’ve had the chance to learn and grow and decide this is what I wanted.”

“I’m almost eighteen. I should be allowed to make my own decisions.”

“I think that’s true. About some things.”

Peter’s heart speeds up and face heats, implying anger, so Matt continues:

“Look: I’m not the one in charge here, and I think we’ve already determined that, in spite of my efforts, I’m not going to be able to stop you. It’s just…” He takes in a breath, continuing, “To explain, this isn’t just some—some small decision you make. It’s not like buying a car or even picking a college. It’s life or death. I think you get that.”

Peter nods. “I—I’m nodding.”

Matt smiles, briefly. “And it’s more than that. What we’re doing—it’s illegal. If the police catch you, and believe me, they’ll try… Everybody you know will be questioned. And maybe even labelled as an accomplice.”

That, at least, gets Peter’s heart racing.

Still, the kid says, voice quiet, “But I can’t stop.”

“Why not?”

Peter lets out a breath through his nose. “Because… Because I’m different. I was given these powers, and I—and now I can actually do something. I don’t have to feel powerless anymore. You’re like me. You get it.”

“I do.” In every way, Matt gets it.

“I just… Shouldn’t we technically be in the clear? We’re not exactly human anymore.”

Matt settles a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Kid, whoever told you that is wrong. You’re human. Just…with a little of something else mixed in.”

It earns the laugh it was meant to gain.

Still, Matt continues, “But if you think that means the law will grant us special privileges… You’re in for a mean awakening. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the world doesn’t exactly like people like us.”

Letting out a breath, Peter says, “Yeah. I know.”

Matt nods. In this moment, there’s so much he wants to say. He settles for: “Your uncle already understands this. That’s why he—why we both—want you away from all of this. He’s trying to keep you safe.”

Peter sighs. “I know, but I’m not going to stop. I’ll just do it again when I’m eighteen. All he’s doing is driving me away.”

“I think you should communicate that with him.”

Scoffing, Peter says, “Like you’re one to talk.”

Matt raises an eyebrow then remember his mask hides it. “You have something to say?”

“Look, no offense, but I’m not the only one who should be talking with him.”

He’s being preached to by the seventeen-year-old.

“You’re right,” Matt says, trying to set a good example. “We both should talk to him. You should head back.”

“Will you come with me?”

Matt hums, taken slightly off-guard.

“Please? I really want you there. He’s studying to be a lawyer. He’ll totally win.”

“There’s nothing to win,” Matt reminds him. Then he sighs. “I’ll at least try to talk him down about tonight.”

Peter groans. “I’m so grounded, aren’t I?”

Matt just smiles.

They make their way to Foggy and Peter’s apartment in silence. Matt can hear Peter’s heart pounding away, nervous. His own joins in the symphony.

Peter goes in first, entering the open window of what seems like his bedroom. Matt follows after, once he’s certain that nobody can see them.

Foggy stands up where he’s at in the living room.

“Is it too late to turn around?” Peter asks.

Matt shoves his shoulder to get him moving.

Once they’ve made it to the living room, Foggy says, “A phone call would have been nice.”

Matt tries a smile. “My bad.”

“And you,” Foggy continues: “why do you want me having a heart attack?”

“My bad,” Peter repeats, and it’s probably not the best thing to say.

“Yeah, it is your bad. I cannot even express how much trouble you’re in. Why. Just why.” Foggy sighs. “Go to your room for a minute. I need to talk to Matt.”

Here it comes.

Peter hesitates for a moment before doing as Foggy says, though Matt has no doubt the kid will be eavesdropping from the doorway.

Foggy seems to know this, too, since he takes a few steps back and lowers his voice as he says, “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”

“Of course. Any time.”

With another sigh, Foggy says, “This is… I know this is a lot to ask, but will you stay?”

Matt’s eyebrows raise beneath the mask.

“I just… Clearly I’m not getting through to him. I think I need to switch tracks, get a second voice behind me.”

It’s a small ask, considering everything between them. “Of course,” Matt says.

“Okay.” Foggy swallows. “Okay.” Then, calling out: “You can stop eavesdropping now.”

Peter says, “Oop,” under his breath then comes out to the living room. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“Sure you weren’t. You—I’m pointing at Peter—sit down. Matt, can I make you a cup of coffee? Tea?”

Coffee feels a bit too close to home for now. “A cup of tea would be great, if you’re having some, too.”

He can smell the tea from here, and it doesn’t smell great. But with the way Foggy’s breaths come short, the way his fingers keep rubbing against each other, he gets the feeling Foggy could use something to do with his hands.

“Sure.”

Foggy walks into the attached kitchen and lifts a metal kettle from the stove, walking over to the sink to fill it with water.

Matt takes off his helmet and takes a seat on a chair at the end of the coffee table.

Peter, who sits on the couch along the length of the table, jiggles his leg as he waits.

Matt doesn’t know what to say to make this better. So, he doesn’t say anything; he waits for Foggy to return not long later.

Foggy sits on the couch beside Peter, inbetween he and Matt. He takes in a breath, about to say something, but Peter says before he can get anything out:

“I already know what you’re going to say. It’s not going to work.”

Foggy lets out the breath. “Oh, so this is how it’s going to go,” he says. “Okay. Why don’t you explain to me what exactly you were thinking tonight.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Excuse me?”

_Kid, shut up, shut up, shut up._

Matt coughs, trying to express exactly how much Peter should stop talking, but the kid continues:

“You’re not even going to listen to me!”

“I don’t have to listen to you on this. It’s a no, Peter.”

“That’s so unfair—”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“You’re being so—”

“If I might,” Matt cuts in finally, and Peter and Foggy both go silent. “Peter, you should listen to your uncle. And Foggy… I think you should hear what Peter has to say.”

Foggy’s quiet for a second before he says, “You know it’s bad when Matt is the voice of reason.”

Peter snorts.

Oh, great. Whatever. If laughing at Matt is what it takes to get Foggy and Peter on common ground, then Matt will suck it up and deal.

“I’ll start,” Foggy says. “Peter, I don’t want you going out to fight criminals because it’s illegal and dangerous. Sound reasonable?”

Matching Foggy’s tone, Peter says, “Okay, well, Foggy, I don’t expect you to understand how I feel about this.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m a human-mutate and I watched my aunt and uncle die. We are not the same.”

Matt wonders whether he should jump in, but Foggy responds, tone sad:

“You sound like you resent me. Although, I’m sure that you do right now. I’m so sorry all of this happened to you. If I could take any of it away, I would in a heartbeat. You know that.”

Peter sighs, and he drops his tone as he says, “Yeah. I know.”

“Good.”

There’s quiet between them for a moment.

Foggy says, “Before Ben and May died, I made a promise to them. I told them that if something were to happen to them, I would take care of you. And keep you safe.”

Matt can smell salt in the air: somebody’s crying.

Sniffing, Peter says, “I know.”

“Okay.” Foggy swallows, and Matt’s left wondering if they’re both crying. “But it’s not just for them. I love you. You’re my kid now. I want to see you laugh and mess around and do kid things.”

“Like sneak out?” Peter says, tone light like it’s a joke.

Foggy pffts a laugh. “Maybe not under these circumstances. Actually, I hate that I have to clarify this, but under no circumstances. No more doing that.”

“We’ll see.”

“Peter.”

“Okay, okay, I see what you’re saying. You know, I love you, too. Believe it or not, I also want me to be safe. But I want you to be safe, too.”

“Oh, kiddo,” Foggy says, and their heat signatures morph together. Matt pictures Foggy wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder, or maybe leaning against him in a sideways hug. “The thing is, we already have people out there protecting us.”

“Right,” Peter says, sounding resigned, “the police.”

“The police,” Foggy agrees. “And maybe a certain devil guy, too.”

Matt feels his face heat up and offers a single stiff nod.

“But I can help, too,” Peter says.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Neither does—” Foggy cuts himself off. He restarts, “I won’t lie to you: I don’t understand this choice you’re trying to make. But I’m trying to. I’m trying to understand you.”

Matt clears his throat. “Peter,” he says, looking in his direction. “Maybe you could tell your uncle about what you said to me earlier.”

Peter’s heart-rate speeds up, but he says, “Right. I’m nodding. I… You know what happened to May and Ben. I was there. And—and I already had my powers then.”

There’s the sound of skin against fabric. Foggy’s rubbing Peter’s back.

Peter continues, “I can’t stop thinking that I could have done something. I could have saved them.” His voice grows hoarse. “But I didn’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” Foggy says right before Matt can.

“I feel like it must be. But that’s beside the point. Now, I can help people. I can do something to make sure what happened to me doesn’t have to happen to anybody else. I’m not—I’m not powerless anymore. I can’t stop.” Peter swallows. “I won’t. Remember the end of Tangled?”

The reference goes over Matt’s head, but Foggy breathes a laugh through his nose.

“Right,” he says. “You’re Rapunzel if she wanted to risk her life every night. This isn’t the same.”

“But do you see what I’m saying? I said it to Matt earlier, but I’m going to make this choice whether it’s now or two years from now. You won’t be able to stop me once I move out.”

“You’re right. I wont,” Foggy says. “I won’t be able to stop you then.”

“Then why are you trying?”

Foggy sighs. “Peter… If I can keep you safe for even a day more… I’m going to make that choice.”

“But you’re not keeping me safe,” Peter says. “Matt, tell him. You’re keeping me safe. Matt’s been teaching me the skills that I need to be able to do this safely.”

Matt nods along because the kid’s not necessarily wrong.

“What about what happened just a few days ago?” Foggy counters. “Peter, you were shot.”

“And I’m fine now! I made a mistake. I won’t make another.”

“You can’t know that. That’s the nature of mistakes.”

“But I won’t. I’ll listen to Matt from now on. Promise.”

“I just can’t take the risk. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Foggy, I’m doing this whether you’re with me or not. The question is: will I be doing it with Matt behind me or on my own?”

There is a long stretch of quiet between the three of them.

Matt finally pipes up, “I’d do everything in my power to keep him safe.”

“I know you would,” Foggy says. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Peter asks.

Foggy sighs again. “The problem is that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“But I’m going to get hurt again,” Peter says. “You can’t protect me from everything. Please, Foggy. Let me do this. Let me do this in the safest way I can think of.”

The tea kettle starts to whistle, and Foggy stands up.

Thick silence cloaks them like a blanket, covers the room with a tense hesitation. Foggy pours two cups of tea then comes back into the room.

He sets one cup of tea down in front of Matt and holds the other in his hands. He sits down and takes a sip.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he says slowly. “You can go out…one night a week.”

“One?!”

“Yes, one. Or we can make it zero. Curphew is… one a-m on school nights or two a-m on weekends.”

“Negotiable?”

Foggy snorts. “We can hash out details as time goes on. When you go out, you are to follow Matt’s orders the entire time. You do not go off on your own under any circumstances. Am I clear?”

“Crystal!” Peter says quickly, as though he’s afraid Foggy might change his mind.

“Matt,” Foggy says, and his voice comes in Matt’s directions suddenly. “Does this sound okay to you? Do you have anything to add?”

Matt allows himself to smile. “It sounds good,” he says.

“Good.” A couple of seconds pass. Foggy says, “Matt, can I speak to you in the kitchen for a second?”

Matt follows behind Foggy as they two walk over near the sink.

They both must know that Peter can still hear them, but Foggy says quietly, “Your suit. Where do I buy one for him?”

Peter’s heart-rate picks up across the room, and he repeats the words under his breath, quiet enough that Matt’s pretty sure he’s the only one to hear.

Resisting the urge to smile, Matt says, “I’ll take care of it. Give me a week.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Foggy starts, but Matt says:

“Don’t worry about it. Consider it a thank you. For the espresso machine.”

Laughing, Foggy says, “We paid for it with the firm’s account; that doesn’t count.”

“It does in my book,” Matt says, and his own heart beats faster at the honesty. He hopes that Foggy picks up on exactly how much it meant to him.

“Okay,” Foggy says. “I’m nodding. Thank you.”

Matt nods back.

There’s quiet between them for a couple of moments. Matt’s trying to think of something to say when Foggy says:

“See you at work on Monday?”

Matt smiles. “It’s a deal.”

————————

“This. Is. Amazing!” the kid shouts. “Woo-hoo!”

Matt snorts a laugh but calls back, “Quiet down. People are sleeping. Or they were.”

Still, he can’t resist his smile as the kid’s echoing laughter fills the air. True to his word, Matt talked to his guy and got Peter’s suit figured out within the week. Obviously, he never gets to see it, but he thinks it must be pretty good, judging by Peter’s reaction.

He waits on Lee’s Hardware while the kid swings around for a couple more minutes before landing and enthusiastically telling Matt about all the cool details on the suit. He has to admit: the reactive eye-lenses sound pretty nifty.

Once he’s finished gushing about his new suit, Matt says, “You ready to put it to use?”

Peter gasps. “Trouble?”

Matt tchs a laugh. “I was thinking we finally track down the base of our mystery drug.”

“That sounds good, too!”

It takes nearly the whole night, but they eventually are drawn to telltale sounds of fighting behind a shithole bar on Ninth Avenue. At first, Matt suspects it to be a regular old drunken brawl. As they get closer, however, he starts to smell the nauseatingly sweet smell of their drug.

They drop down into the space behind the bar, where there clearly is a fight going on, and Peter gasps.

“Daredevil, are you seeing this?” he says. “There’s somebody already here!”

Matt just barely makes her out as her fist connects with a man’s cheekbone: Aada Korhonen.

Turns out they’re not the only vigilantes around here anymore. Matt should have known.

“Looks like we were beaten to the punch,” Matt says. Literally.

“Do we…”

Another man cries out as one of his bones snaps.

“It sounds like she’s got it handled,” Matt says, and he climbs back up the fire escape of the place.

“Wait, seriously?” Peter asks, following after. “You didn’t let me handle things in ‘your neighborhood’ for months, but you’re just gonna let her take care of our case?”

Matt can’t help his laugh. He’s going to have to talk to their new vigilante eventually, though he has a feeling it’s not going to be a problem.

“What can I say?” he says. “Maybe a little help around here wouldn’t be so bad.”

“So unfair,” Peter says, but he follows after Matt as he dashes away.

As he runs across rooftops, Peter following by his side, Matt sees just how much he’s gained over the past year. He’s not doing this by himself anymore; and maybe he never truly has.

In the end, Matt considers that maybe Stick was wrong: maybe Matt can build a life for himself filled with friendship, filled with family.

Because he’s proven that he can be strong on his own. Now it’s time to show the world that his true strength comes from something bigger than himself:

love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops in months later with the ending* Thanks so much to all of you lovely people who take the time to read my story and even to kudos or comment. You all were so overwhelmingly kind to me and to this story, and I appreciate you all so much. This fic was a blast, and I hope you guys had fun with it!
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr!](https://happybeans.tumblr.com/)


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